The prison guards here were no different from those outside. Moreover, prisoners sent into the Molten Palace rarely had any chance of getting out again, so skimping on a prisoner’s daily supplies and meals was common practice.

But toward State Preceptor Qing Yang, even the head jailer maintained a measure of courtesy, and that was yet saying anything of those beneath him.

State Preceptor Qing Yang lifted the food box, walked to the table, and sat down to eat.

Most people, when first locked inside the Molten Palace, would be too anxious and afraid to eat for days. Yet she ate and slept as usual, as though she had already seen through everything.

Today’s prison meal consisted of two large yellow steamed buns, each bigger than her palm, steamed until soft and fluffy. In the middle was a piece of fragrant braised pork belly, neither too fatty nor too lean, along with stir-fried sprouts.

There was also a large red apple and a cup of chicken soup stewed with lion’s mane mushrooms.

If the other prisoners saw this meal, their saliva would flood the floor. But for State Preceptor Qing Yang, before entering prison, it had been many, many years since she had eaten food so… down-to-earth.

The chicken soup was too full. Whether it had been the attendant or the prison guard, whoever carried it in had clearly jostled it too much. In any case, the soup had spilled all over the bottom...