As they arrived at the prison, Jing Lin had already ordered everything to be prepared. They saw Wang Buzui sitting on the damp floor, his hair disheveled and face dirty. The wounds inflicted by Shen Du had coagulated, leaving dark red bloodstains on his prisoner’s clothes. Gone was the proud demeanor of the Guangchun Hall master. He now stared blankly at the narrow air vent in the wall.
Shen Du and Zhu Yan exchanged a glance before nodding to Jing Lin, who in turn signaled an Imperial Guard to step forward.
Before the cell door could be opened, Wang Buzui burst into maniacal laughter. It stopped abruptly with the “clang” of the iron lock dropping.
Wang Buzui didn’t turn around, continuing to gaze at the air vent with a straight back, seemingly composed.
Due to the recent jailbreak attempt, Jing Lin had arranged for Wang Buzui to be held in a small, solitary cell reserved for serious offenders. The cell door was secured with three heavy locks, and apart from the palm-sized air vent, no other light entered.
The Imperial Guards lit oil lamps and torches on the sides.
In this cramped space, no one spoke at first.
As the interrogator, Shen Du’s thoughts raced to Mo Qianzhi’s escape when he saw Wang Buzui. He knew the next steps were crucial. As the one being questioned, Wang Buzui seemed to have anticipated his failed escape, appearing calm. After all, he believed his god wouldn’t abandon him, and he still had his sister.
Anyone who dared to interfere with his sister’s revival would face a terrible fate.
“Ahem.” Shen Du cleared his throat, hoping to make the man in the corner turn and face him, but there was no response.
“Criminal Wang Buzui, the Grand Secretary is questioning you. You’d better cooperate!” Jing Lin said angrily, drawing his sword with a “shing.”
Wang Buzui’s leg was broken, forcing him to stand awkwardly. The sound of the sword startled him, making his body tremble. Still, he didn’t turn around, seemingly convinced that Shen Du wouldn’t—or couldn’t—kill him.
“How dare you…” Jing Lin stepped forward, about to lose his temper, but Shen Du raised his hand to stop him. The dark cell fell silent again.
Zhu Yan had been tightly holding one of Shen Du’s hands. The oppressive environment made it hard to breathe. She observed Wang Buzui, recalling what Pan Chi had said earlier. Her thoughts were jumbled, yet connected by an invisible thread, unsure where it would lead.
After a long while, Wang Buzui finally spoke: “Don’t bother trying to get anything out of me, and don’t even think about disrupting my plans to revive my little sister.”
His words were nothing but a delusion. The dead cannot be brought back to life—even the legendary physician Hua Tuo couldn’t achieve such a feat. Shen Du and Zhu Yan exchanged glances, both finding it odd. The strange part wasn’t whether Wang Buzui’s sister could be revived, but rather his claim about not disrupting their revival process. Did this mean he and his accomplices had other means to continue this so-called secret method?
With Wang Buzui locked up here under heavy guard, what could he mean?
Regardless of his intentions, Shen Du couldn’t allow him to succeed or be led by the nose.
“Nonsense. Why bother reviving your little sister when you can soon meet her in the next world? Wouldn’t that be faster?” Shen Du said.
“You!” Wang Buzui slowly turned to face Shen Du, his expression filled with grief and anger. Wasn’t this cursing him to only meet his sister in the underworld?
“If you can provide some information, this official might let you die quickly, so you can reunite with your deceased little sister sooner,” Shen Du said, his words intentionally provocative.
Wang Buzui was indeed provoked. He lunged at Shen Du but fell after just one step, clutching his wound and groaning. He raised his face, contorted in pain, and said hatefully, “You can’t kill me! Haha, my little sister will be revived soon.”
Seeing his continued delusion, Zhu Yan, who had been protected behind Shen Du, peeked out and couldn’t help but scold, “What foolish thinking! Death and resurrection are inherently fallacious. ‘All laugh at the moth flying into the flame’—it’s laughable because the moth knowingly flies to its death. ‘Not knowing that as ephemeral beings, born in the morning and dead by night, they do not enter the cycle of rebirth’—Heaven values all life, so even mayflies that live for just a day have a place in the cycle of rebirth. How could they not enter it? ‘The moth passes through fire, does not die, and is reborn through reincarnation’—a moth that passes through fire will turn to ash and smoke, unable to step on the path of reincarnation. How could it be reborn? It’s laughable, truly laughable.”
What was originally a sacred text for the Fire Moth Party had been dissected by Zhu Yan in this way. Wang Buzui muttered to himself, disregarding his dirty hands and feet, and cursed viciously, “You… you will be punished by our god. You’ll be burned by fierce flames eighty-one times, your heart will be devoured, and your bones will only be fit to feed the fish.”
“Oh,” Shen Du was about to react, but Zhu Yan held him back. Instead, she smiled, “Why not feed them to your god?”
“You’re not worthy!”
“Hmm, that’s a question,” Zhu Yan didn’t seem offended at all. She looked at Shen Du with a hint of concern, “Maybe we should feed his bones to their god. He’s so loyal, his main deity would surely like it. Oh, and his heart too. Since you want to revive your little sister, why not use your own heart? Your siblings are connected by heart, so the chances should be higher, right?”
Upon hearing this, Wang Buzui looked utterly defeated. He slumped to the ground, lowering his head in deep thought, his hair covering his face.
Zhu Yan fell silent. Surely this man wasn’t seriously considering her suggestion? He must have gone completely mad.
“Is that possible?” Wang Buzui muttered.
“Wang Buzui, you’ve truly lost your mind,” Zhu Yan said. How could this possibly work? She had just made it up!
Wang Buzui glared at her fiercely: “What do you know? My little sister can be revived. If you hadn’t interrupted the ritual…” He angrily waved his sleeve, unable to vent his fury, truly frustrated.
Zhu Yan tugged at Shen Du’s sleeve. Shen Du lowered his head to see Zhu Yan’s clear, dark eyes. He bent down to listen, and Zhu Yan turned his head, whispering something in his ear. Shen Du nodded, and she looked back at Wang Buzui: “Although we don’t understand, I have a way for you to see your sister.”
See… his sister?
Could he see his sister? Wang Buzui looked at Zhu Yan in confusion, only to see her take out a painting.
“How do you have that?” Wang Buzui was shocked, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Zhu Yan smiled lightly, unperturbed: “I noticed Deputy Commander Wang treasured this painting greatly. When you displayed it at Guangchun Hall, you wiped and cleaned it multiple times before hanging it, unlike your treatment of other paintings. Combined with what we know about Xiuxiu from Xiu Xiang Chamber, Du Xiaowan, and… myself, it wasn’t hard to deduce that the girl in this painting is your sister—Wang Xiuxiu. You carved her name into the painting, it’s easy to see.”
Shen Du looked down at Zhu Yan, his gaze filled with pity and regret for not protecting her better, allowing her to be in such danger.
After seeing the portrait of his little sister, Wang Buzui’s tone noticeably softened, his gaze becoming gentler. He stared at the eyes of the woman in the painting—his beloved little sister he had been longing for day and night.
Yet he said: “How is this possible?”