Pairs of eyes swept across Cui Xun’s bare upper body in shock.

Those hideous scars he most wanted to hide, those terrible torture marks representing all his past humiliations, were now stripped bare by his hand and exposed to the world. The officials began to whisper among themselves. None could have imagined that the typically proud, arrogant, and ruthless Deputy Chief of the Investigation Bureau would have such horrifying wounds covering his body.

Besides the fresh, swollen welts from recent whippings and beatings, most were old injuries—burns from branding irons, lashes from rattan canes, and the majority were from torture implements unfamiliar to the court officials. However, several officials who regularly dealt with the Turks drew sharp breaths. These appeared to be wounds from Turkish torture instruments.

Most numerous on Cui Xun’s body were old whip scars, each a full foot in length. In the middle of each lash mark were three especially deep indentations. These appeared to be wounds from a Turkish slave-breaking whip.

The Turkish slave-breaking whip was made from nine strips of raw cowhide braided together, unsmoothed, with three knots in the middle. Thick and heavy, when it struck the body, the knots would tear out flesh, causing unbearable pain. It was used by Turkish nobles to punish errant slaves. Why would such marks appear on Cui Xun’s body?

Whispers reached Cui Xun’s ears as the officials commented on the scars covering his naked torso, some shocked, others pitying. He closed his eyes in humiliation, his long, raven-like eyelashes trembling slightly. The shameful memories from the Turkish court flooded back like a tide.

In his daze, he seemed to return to the time when Ashina Wuduo held the whip, examining his body like livestock. His face was pinched as they checked his teeth like inspecting an animal. During that period, every time he opened his eyes, it meant a new round of torture and humiliation. Every tear of physical pain would encourage his tormentors. In Turkey, he had no name—everyone called him the Lotus Slave. He wasn’t a person but an animal that Ashina Wuduo was determined to break. Everyone eagerly contributed methods to tame him. The once-treasured son of the Cui clan of Boling lived worse than a dog there, completely stripped of dignity.

His most hidden wounds, his most humiliating past, all laid bare. At this moment, he felt all his self-respect and pride shattered into dust once more. His body trembled slightly. Under such extreme shame, he didn’t dare open his eyes or raise his head to see the reactions of those present.

In his confusion, he seemed to hear Li Ying’s voice.

Her voice was gentle, gradually soothing the wounds in his heart. She said, “I don’t see that as humiliation. Instead, I see it as pride, the same as Su Wu herding sheep in captivity.”

She said, “If one day the world knew everything you’ve done, I think no one would consider it shameful.”

Finally, she said, “So, Cui Xun, when you were among the Turks, you weren’t livestock—you were a hero.”

A hero?

Encouraged by the young woman’s gentle words, Cui Xun slowly opened his tightly shut eyes. He began to raise his head, looking around at the officials with their varied expressions. Pointing to a ring of scars around his neck, he spoke with difficulty: “This scar was left when the Turks stripped me naked, locked a dog chain around my neck, and put me in a dog cage in front of the royal tent for a month.”

He then pointed to the whip marks covering his upper body and said: “These scars were left after my fourth escape attempt, when the Turks gave me two hundred lashes with their slave-breaking whip.”

There was also a scar on his elbow where flesh had been torn away: “This happened when the Turks tied a rope to me, draped me with sheepskin, and forced me to crawl naked through the streets like a sheep. When I refused, they tied me behind a horse and dragged me, leaving this mark.”

His voice gradually lost its initial embarrassment and became increasingly clear: “I can explain the origin of every scar on my body if you wish to hear.”

In the silence, someone muttered: “A man of honor can be killed but not humiliated. To suffer such humiliation and still cling to life…”

Cui Xun looked toward the voice. The speaker was startled by the desperate pain in his eyes. Cui Xun gave a bitter laugh: “Clinging to life? If I could, I would rather die. But if I died, who would seek justice for the fifty thousand Tianwei Army soldiers?”

Cui Songqing, who had been silent all along, was startled by these words. He remembered Cui Xun telling him that while in Turkey, he had a thousand, ten thousand opportunities to take his own life, but he had his path to follow and couldn’t end his life. At that time, Cui Songqing had harshly rebuked Cui Xun, asking if his “path” was to surrender to the Turks and beg favors from barbarian women. But it turned out that Cui Xun’s “path” was to risk his life seeking justice for his fallen comrades.

Cui Songqing’s feelings were suddenly incredibly complex.

The muttering official dared not speak again. The court fell completely silent. On the throne, the Longxing Emperor’s fingers gradually tightened. He well knew who was responsible for Cui Xun’s scars and why that person had treated Cui Xun so cruelly. He found Cui Xun’s torture marks particularly glaring, feeling both jealous and angry. He rebuked: “Cui Xun, can a body covered in scars alone prove you didn’t surrender to the Turks?”

“Of course,” Cui Xun finally ceased to be ashamed of displaying his scars. He raised his head and answered: “The tortures I endured lasted for two full years, from my capture until I escaped from the royal court. Every scar on my body is irrefutable evidence of my innocence. From beginning to end, I never surrendered to the Turks.”

The Longxing Emperor sneered: “One-sided words—why should we believe them?”

Behind the pearl curtain, the Empress Dowager finally gave a light cough, saying with displeasure: “Your Majesty.”

Any clear-minded person would know that if Cui Xun had truly surrendered to the Turks, he wouldn’t have such terrifying scars. The Longxing Emperor had simply lost his senses, still denying this fact.

But the Longxing Emperor’s mind was clouded by jealousy and hatred. He said, “You claim your scars were inflicted by the Turks, but does that make it so? Hmph, I think you’re conspiring with the Turks, intending to undermine public morale by portraying yourself as a hero enduring humiliation for a greater cause. Hah, a hero? You, Cui Xun, are nothing but a pretty toy serving others with your looks. How dare you call yourself a hero?”

While arguments continued in Zichen Hall, outside Danfeng Gate, an old man wearing golden Ming-style armor slowly approached the Imperial Guards. He opened his mouth but couldn’t produce any sound, only gesturing repeatedly with his hands. The guards examined his attire, wondering if he might be some old frontier soldier coming to cause trouble. Frowning impatiently, one guard waved him away: “This is Daming Palace. Step back.”

The old man persisted. Annoyed, the soldier tried to push him away, but couldn’t move him. Looking the old man over, the guard thought: this mute has some martial skill? He pushed again, harder: “How dare you cause trouble at Daming Palace? Get lost!”

The old man grabbed his arm and finally produced a rough, unformed sound from his throat: “I… I must enter Daming Palace.”

The soldier found himself unable to break free. Other nearby soldiers surrounded them: “A mere commoner, what right do you have to enter Daming Palace?”

After speaking once, though still hoarse, the old man’s voice became somewhat more normal: “I am no commoner.”

He said: “I am Ding Jing, Fifth Rank Commander of the Garrison, the Zhezhong Commander.”

Ding Jing, Commander of the Garrison, had been stationed in Jiuyuan County. Six years ago, when the Turks invaded, he had led twenty thousand troops to resist, vowing not to retreat and dying in battle. The court, moved by his loyalty, had posthumously awarded him the title of Grand Governor of Yi Province and granted his son an official position.

How could someone who had been dead for six years appear outside Daming Palace, requesting an audience with His Majesty, claiming to have important information?

Moreover, this information was related to the case being heard in Zichen Hall.

The Imperial Guards looked at each other in confusion before rushing into Zichen Hall to report. The officials were astonished and demanded that Ding Jing be summoned immediately to clarify the matter. The Longxing Emperor was equally puzzled and ordered the guards to bring Ding Jing into the hall.

Soon, he began to regret his decision.

When Ding Jing entered Zichen Hall wearing the armor from six years ago, officials who knew him examined him carefully. After a while, they confirmed it was indeed Ding Jing. Pressing his lips together, Ding Jing glanced at Cui Xun kneeling in the hall, half-naked and covered in old wounds. Lowering his gaze, Ding Jing knelt and properly performed the ritual bow to the Longxing Emperor and Empress Dowager before straightening up.

Kneeling beside him, Cui Xun’s wrists moved slightly, causing his chains to clank. He sighed softly: “Why bother?”

It was Ding Jing, the mute servant.

Everyone spoke at once, asking Ding Jing how he had returned from the dead. Shame appeared on Ding Jing’s wrinkled face. Though he wore his armor from six years ago, he no longer resembled the valiant Commander of Jiuyuan. Instead, he looked like any stooped old man in Chang’an. Even old acquaintances had difficulty recognizing him.

He kowtowed and said in his hoarse voice: “I have sinned.”

“Six years ago, when the Turks invaded, I led the troops to resist but was unfortunately defeated. Reports sent back to Chang’an claimed I had died fighting in the chaos. In truth, I didn’t die but was captured by the Turks.” Ding Jing’s expression grew increasingly ashamed: “When captured, I should have taken my own life for the country, but I… feared death and cherished life. So I assumed the identity of Lieutenant Zhang Yun and surrendered to the Turks. Later, under Nidu Khan’s arrangement, I even married a Turkish woman…”

The officials were in an uproar. The Longxing Emperor and Empress Dowager were equally shocked. Ding Jing lowered his head even further, hardly daring to raise it: “I have failed Your Majesty’s grace. No death can atone for my guilt! I… willingly accept punishment!”

His voice choked as he kowtowed heavily. From behind the pearl curtain, the Empress Dowager angrily rebuked: “Outrageous!”

How could he face the twenty thousand soldiers who had died with him? How could he face the trust of the people of Jiuyuan? How could he face the golden armor he wore?

Ding Jing kept his head down, his face flushed with shame and remorse. He murmured: “I know I deserve death, but before I die, I wish to clear one person’s name.”

Slowly raising his head, he said each word distinctly: “Deputy Chief Cui Xun of the Investigation Bureau never surrendered to the Turks. I am the witness!”

Through Ding Jing’s detailed testimony, everyone learned that after being captured by the Turks, he was imprisoned in the Turkish royal court. Ding Jing didn’t want to die, so he assumed a false identity and surrendered. Months later, the Turkish royal court received another special prisoner.

That prisoner was a member of the Tianwei Army and the legitimate son of the Cui clan of Boling. His name was Cui Xun.

Ding Jing had initially thought that such a nobleman raised in luxury would, like himself, be unable to bear the fear of death and would surrender to the Turks. But he was wrong.

He witnessed this young noble endure the prisoner presentation ceremony, endure repeated tortures, endure various humiliations, yet steadfastly refuse to utter a word of surrender. The Turkish slave-breaking whip injured his flesh, but couldn’t bend his knees or break his unyielding spirit.

Everyone in the royal court could see Princess Wuduo’s fondness for him. If only he had been willing to surrender, to soften his stance, he could have won the most beautiful woman in the Western Regions and enjoyed countless riches and honors. He wouldn’t have had to endure those inhuman torments. But he simply refused, unwilling to either soften or surrender.

Day after day, month after month, when Ding Jing and his Turkish wife saw Cui Xun outside the royal tent, his neck locked in a dog chain and imprisoned in a cage, Ding Jing was shocked. His Turkish wife examined the scarred young man in the cage and said: “The Princess’s lotus slave is indeed beautiful.”

She asked Ding Jing, “But why doesn’t he want to surrender? If he surrendered, he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. He could even marry Princess Wuduo. Do all Han people like to suffer for the sake of so-called principles? But you’re also Han, and you didn’t choose to suffer.”

Ding Jing couldn’t remember what else she said. He just stared blankly at the young man in the cage. In that instant, shame overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

Despite his wife’s objections, he took off his outer robe and covered the young man in the cage with it. Then, he fled as if flying.

Afterward, he began to live in a daze, increasingly concerned about the young Tianwei Army soldier. He watched helplessly as the young man attempted to escape time after time, only to be captured each time. He saw the scars on his body multiply and his frame grow increasingly thin. Finally, during his last attempt, the young man succeeded in escaping, taking with him the lives of Nidu Khan and many Turkish nobles.

After Cui Xun left Turkey, Ding Jing’s self-loathing reached its peak. He knew that staying in Turkey meant living, while leaving meant death. But if a young man not yet twenty could endure inhuman torture and resist without yielding, couldn’t he, a veteran commander, do the same?

After long planning, Ding Jing finally escaped from Turkey as well. Before leaving, he took only his golden armor with him.

Upon returning to the Great Zhou, he initially wanted to turn himself in. But he discovered that in the Great Zhou, he was already dead. He had been posthumously awarded the title of Grand Governor of Yi Province, and his son had been granted an official position. If he turned himself in, not only would he be disgraced, but his family would also suffer.

Ding Jing was cowardly once again. Unable to live properly or die honorably, he came to Chang’an and sought out Cui Xun, now the Deputy Chief of the Investigation Bureau, asking him to kill him.

He remembered that Cui Xun, just released from the Dali Temple prison, was weak and sickly, coughing violently, saying faintly: “Why should I kill you?”

Ding Jing knelt before him, tears streaming down his face: “Because it was Young Master Cui who reminded me that I was still a general.”

He took out a knife, raised it high, and handed it to Cui Xun. Cui Xun merely glanced at the blade and said, “I don’t want to kill you. You may go.”

Later, he learned that at this time, Cui Xun was trapped in rumors spread by Ashina Wuduo. All people of the Great Zhou firmly believed he had surrendered to the Turks. He had been tortured for another year in the Dali Temple prison. Even though he repeatedly emphasized that he hadn’t surrendered to the Turks and repeatedly requested that Dali Temple officials investigate in Turkey, no one believed him. He finally lost all hope in human nature, in his sovereign. In the end, he paid the price of abandoning all conscience, willingly becoming the Empress Dowager’s hound, just to leave the Dali Temple prison alive.

The young man who had refused to yield even in death in Turkey finally became the cold and ruthless Deputy Chief of the Investigation Bureau in Chang’an.

But no matter how much he abandoned his conscience, no matter how cold and ruthless he became, he still didn’t kill Ding Jing.

Because he still remembered that day in the Turkish royal court when Ding Jing covered him with an outer robe.