Chapter 54: Longing

Chapter 54: Yearning

Inside the courtyard, rain poured down in torrents, raindrops the size of beans crashing into the ground, kicking up splatters of mud in all directions.

Though it was midday, the sky was unusually gloomy.

Lamps were lit within the dim room, and Yuan Rang sat alone before the desk, staring at the latest petition submitted by the yamen.

His slender fingertips pressed against his temples, his dark eyes shifting away from the document, staring lifelessly at the closed door.

Until a muffled knock sounded from outside.

Yuan Rang snapped back to attention without a second thought. His thin lips parted slightly. "Come in."

Jili's shoulders were drenched, his dark robe glistening faintly in the firelight, damp and clammy.

The hem of his robe was caked with mud, stained and yellowed.

But he couldn't worry about that now.

Jili hurried to Yuan Rang's side, dropping to his knees with a heavy thud that echoed in the closed room.

"Your Highness..."

"Your servant has been going for over ten days now—still nothing."

Jili knelt there, trembling all over, as if he were freezing in the middle of summer.

Seventeen days.

Yuan Rang's dark eyes moved slowly, his cold gaze settling on the trembling Jili.

He felt as if some demon had possessed him—these seventeen days were a nightmare.

"Try again tomorrow."

Jili's body went limp, and he collapsed onto the hard floor.

He'd been going to the postal relay too often lately; he could feel several riders watching him.

But this was His Highness's order—even if it meant death, he had no right to complain.

Jili opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing.

"Out."

Yuan Rang tilted his head slightly, his face twisted with obsession, the darkness in his eyes threatening to swallow him whole.

Jili didn't dare say another word. Bracing his hands on the floor, he rose unsteadily and headed out.

With a creak, the room fell silent again.

Yuan Rang calmly picked up the petition from the desk, staring blankly at the black characters on it.

The paper clearly listed Wu Quan's many crimes, yet Yuan Rang frowned at it as if he couldn't read anymore.

His left hand clenched, nails digging into his palm, yet he still felt no pain.

Yuan Rang's heart raced, and his breath caught in an instant. His hands convulsed and shook, knocking over the inkstone on the desk.

The heavy object hit the floor with a sharp crack, ink splattering and staining the hem of Yuan Rang's purple robe.

He buried his face against the desk, his hands shaking violently as he clutched his head, breathing deeply.

Outside, the torrential rain hammered against the closed window frames with a deafening roar.

At that moment, the candle finally burned out, a wisp of white smoke curling from its wick.

Yuan Rang sat in silence for a long time, then rose from the darkness. His tall figure swayed slightly, as if he could barely stand, as he walked toward the door.

————

He Sui looked at the bloodied, mangled Hu man before him, a sneer curling on his handsome face.

He picked up an iron needle from the porcelain tray beside him and said with a light laugh, "Tough guy—there are already two needles buried in your fingers, and you still won't talk?"

The Hu man burst into wild laughter, his thick beard soaked in blood, droplets splattering onto He Sui's moon-white robes as he moved.

He Sui shook his head, gesturing for others to hold the man's hands down, then drove the iron needle viciously under his fingernail.

"Hahaha... that feels great!"

The Hu man screamed in a frenzy, his eyes bloodshot, a savage light gleaming in his pale brown eyes.

The heavy, rusted iron door was pushed open slowly. The newcomer stepped in with steady strides, tall and imposing.

He Sui gave a slight bow. "Your Highness."

"His Highness has always admired a tough spine."

Yuan Rang's dark eyes churned with unrestrained fury, as if about to erupt.

"Bring in the cauldron. His Highness will treat him to something good."

A servant carried in a pot of boiling water, setting it on the iron rack before the Hu man, while others were called to light charcoal beneath it.

Through the thin veil of steam, Yuan Rang stared at the man's blood-covered face. Expressionless, he seized the man's limp arm and plunged it viciously into the bubbling water.

He savored the agony on the Hu man's face, watching him grit his teeth as dark red blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, until he passed out from the pain.

"Done."

Yuan Rang finally smiled. Taking the wine offered by a servant beside him, he splashed it harshly across the Hu man's scarred face.

"Ah!"

The Hu man screamed awake, blood gushing from his gaping mouth, tortured beyond recognition.

"His Highness has heard that your lands are short on supplies—going ten days or two weeks without a proper meal is common."

Yuan Rang raised the arm he held, watching the flesh turn a cooked brown, the skin splitting open like a grotesque flower of meat.

"Fine meat and vegetables."

"Want a bite?"

He Sui shuddered where he stood, cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

"Make him eat it." Yuan Rang said lightly. "If he won't learn to talk, then let him first learn how to eat."

"If you don't talk, I'll boil the other one too."

"Make sure our guest gets fed well."

...

The rain outside gradually let up, a huge dark cloud hung overhead, pressing down so it was hard to breathe.

The sky darkened, and sparse lanterns began to flicker on within the yamen.

He Sui followed Yuan Rang and reported, "He confessed—claims he's one of the Wise King of the Left's men."

Yuan Rang stared at the pitch-black sky and said coldly, "The Old Chanyu's not even dead yet, and they're already this eager."

He stepped out of the yamen into the rain. His cold, low voice scattered on the wind into He Sui's ears, leaving him stiff and chilled to the bone.

"Dispose of them all."

————

In the dim room, calming incense burned, and a cool evening breeze stirred the smoke into drifting wisps.

Yuan Rang sat in an armchair and opened the neatly arranged sandalwood box on the table.

Inside was a stack of letters.

Yuan Rang gently took them out and spread them one by one across the broad desk.

He counted them carefully—exactly the number he'd memorized.

Eight letters.

His slender fingers picked up the letters, and with a gentle expression, he opened and read each one.

The handwriting wasn't much to look at, but Yuan Rang adored it.

Chen Shuoan had filled every single one to the brim, pouring out his longing without restraint.

He wrote that he was getting bored of the palace and wanted to come out and play.

He wrote that the New Year's money he'd pressed into Yuan Rang's hands was still in the palace, and Yuan Rang had to remember to ask for it when he got back.

He wrote that he'd made the hole Chen Gangpao dug in Cuixuan Garden bigger and planted three plum trees in it.

He'd also told Chun Cui to take good care of them, so that when His Highness came back in the twelfth month, he'd definitely see the red plums blooming in the courtyard.

He wrote about what he'd eaten over the past month.

He wrote that he'd had chive buns with garlic for breakfast and braised beef for lunch.

He wrote that he'd left the palace today, gone home, and seen Chen Gangpao, who was getting fatter by the day.

He wrote that today was his eighteenth birthday, and his dad had given him a courtesy name, calling him Qingle.

It came from "seas calm and rivers clear, peace and joy."

He wrote about his good brothers.

He wrote that Qin Zhonglian had gone to Shuobei, and Zhang Chenggong and Li Wei had gone down to Jiangnan.

He wrote that he'd started a school and was chased around by a bunch of little squirts all clamoring to call him "Master."

He wrote that he'd met so many interesting people and seen so many interesting things.

He wrote that he'd wait for Yuan Rang to come back.

Tears slid silently down Yuan Rang's face.

Why'd you stop writing?

Are you mad that I never wrote back, Qingle?

Bozhou's old sickness runs deep—it needs drastic treatment, and he's surrounded by wolves.

In the capital, three imperial brothers watch him with hungry eyes, always looking to grab hold of his mistakes and shove him into the abyss.

How could I reply? How dare I?

His slender fingers trembled as they traced the signature on the letter, teardrops falling onto it, soaking through with a burning, longing-soaked stain.

Chen Shuoan.

Chen Qingle.

I beg you.

Don't abandon me.