The gates of the capital were indeed locked, with a ten-day martial law declared. No one could enter or leave. The Western Rong envoy was placed under house arrest, delaying their return journey.
Time and again, the envoy requested permission to leave, but their pleas were repeatedly suppressed, like stones sinking into the sea without response.
With the envoy’s prolonged inability to return, the situation beyond the frontier suddenly grew tense. Western Rong had gathered a large army, and the battle that hadn’t erupted last winter seemed poised to break out as early summer approached.
As external pressure gradually mounted and no trace of Jin’an was found within the capital, Si Ma Yang finally opened the city gates and allowed the Western Rong envoys to depart.
From the moment the Western Rong envoy left the capital, they were surrounded by Da Jin soldiers, under strict guard to ensure they wouldn’t take even one extra person with them.
Li Shuang was summoned to the chamber countless times, and interrogated by the Prime Minister’s most trusted subordinates.
The current Prime Minister, Ji He, had been the Third Prince’s maternal uncle and had fully supported the Third Prince’s bid for the throne when Si Ma Yang was still Crown Prince. However, after Si Ma Yang’s ascension, while the Third Prince was placed under house arrest at North Mountain to observe mourning, Ji He managed to retain his position due to his deeply entrenched power in court.
Yet any shrewd observer could see that rather than Ji He preserving his position, it was more accurate to say that Si Ma Yang had temporarily spared his life.
Si Ma Yang was now emperor, elevated to power by the Grand General’s support. His empress and the forces behind him relied heavily on the Grand General’s backing. Some reckless individuals even privately called the Grand General the “General King,” his prestige nearly overshadowing the throne.
Si Ma Yang needed a force that could counterbalance the Grand General.
While they struggled for power in court, Si Ma Yang could develop his true power base. How long Ji He would remain depended entirely on Si Ma Yang’s political maneuvering.
Ji He’s utility to Si Ma Yang became apparent during Li Shuang’s interrogation.
Ji He’s confidants questioned her relentlessly for days at a time—what did the man look like, when was the last time she saw him, who else did he know?
Li Shuang was no stranger to such intense interrogation, having often watched her subordinates conduct similar questioning of others. Her answers were half-truth and half-fiction, perfectly consistent with no contradictions, leaving them nothing to seize upon.
According to her account, she was simply a general who saved a stranger out of gratitude for past kindness.
She claimed to not know who he was, where he came from, or why she was being questioned now. She only knew his appearance and strength.
The Grand General remained completely uninvolved in Li Shuang’s interrogation, not using even the slightest connection, leaving the Prime Minister no grounds to implicate him.
Half a month passed, and just as Jin’an’s matter seemed to be settling down, one clear morning in court, the Prime Minister suddenly accused the Grand General of secretly collaborating with enemy states. The reason was that they had discovered an underground chamber in the White Temple in the southern city.
The chamber showed recent signs of habitation, and Li Shuang had lived in this temple before joining the General’s household in her childhood.
They tortured the temple monks, using methods they dared not use on Li Shuang. Finally, one monk broke under the torture and confessed that someone had indeed been living there recently. The monk claimed to have spoken with this person, who allegedly said the Grand General had arranged his stay there and ordered the monks to keep quiet.
Li Shuang could tell at one hearing that this confession was forced.
Firstly, this wasn’t the Grand General’s doing—it had nothing to do with her father. Secondly, although Li Shuang’s contact with the memory-recovered Jin’an had been brief, she knew he wasn’t foolish. He would never have revealed his presence to the monks, let alone discussed his background with them.
Certainly, someone had been coerced into providing false testimony, falsely claiming to have seen Jin’an and knowing of the Grand General’s involvement.
Though the testimony was false, it contained enough truth to put the General’s household in dire straits.
At this point, Li Shuang finally broke her silence: “I was the one who sent him there.” For the first time, she told the truth to her interrogators. “I knew he was the Western Rong prince. I knew the Azure Dragon Guards came to capture him. I sent him there. The General’s household was implicated because of me, and my father was kept completely in the dark.”
The Prime Minister’s confidant questioning Li Shuang immediately lit up: “General Li, this is a serious matter. Don’t try to take the blame yourself just to protect the Grand General.”
“I’m not taking blame. This is what I did. Father hasn’t been to the northern frontier for years and wouldn’t recognize anyone from Western Rong. I returned from the frontier to the capital, traveling south along the way specifically to save him. After bringing him back to the capital and finally learning his identity, I decided to let him go.”
Li Shuang spoke calmly, but the implications in her words left the record-keepers stunned.
The emperor’s feelings for Li Shuang were now known throughout the court, and her confession had directly struck the emperor’s face.
“General Li,” the Prime Minister’s confidant’s gaze turned sinister, “why would you help someone from an enemy state like this?”
“Since Western Rong has already signed a peace treaty with our Da Jin, they are no longer enemies. Colleagues, you should be more careful with your words. As for why I saved him…” Li Shuang’s gaze lowered slightly, “Because he once saved me. I owed him greatly.”
“The General’s actions seem to have far exceeded mere repayment of gratitude.” The man’s lips curled slightly. “What connection exists between you and him? Perhaps you should elaborate?”
Li Shuang raised her eyes to stare at him: “I’ve said what needs to be said. The rest is not for you to question.”
The man showed no anger, simply standing and taking his documents as he left: “Then I shall report it as such. If someone more appropriate comes to question you later, I hope the General won’t evade the subject.”
The documents were passed up level by level until they reached Si Ma Yang’s hands. Li Shuang didn’t know what alterations the Prime Minister’s people might have made, but the next day, she was imprisoned.
In the cabinet prison, Li Shuang was given the largest cell. Compared to conditions during military campaigns, aside from being dark and damp, it wasn’t too bad. She remained composed.
No one from the General’s household came to see her, not even Li Xing. Li Shuang understood—the General’s household was now the target of countless arrows, and the slightest misstep could bring disaster. All they could do was distance themselves from her as much as possible, pushing all blame onto her. Whether or not this was her father’s wish, it had to be done for the sake of the General’s household.
In the end, whether Li Shuang or the Grand General, they were all merely subjects. Her relinquishing of power and the Grand General’s gradual retreat were all to put the current emperor at ease.
Li Shuang spent some time in prison, and even in the underground cell, she could feel the weather gradually warming outside.
The cabinet had yet to pass judgment on Li Shuang’s actions. By the time it was hot enough for mosquitoes to appear in the prison, a familiar face finally came to visit her.
Seeing Qin Lan, Li Shuang showed no particular emotion, but Qin Lan knelt before her cell: “General.”
Li Shuang sighed: “My position has been stripped. Just use my name.”
“…How could the General do so much for one person…”
“Qin Lan, you’ve asked me this question many times,” Li Shuang said. “You know why.”
Qin Lan clenched his teeth, falling silent. The cell grew quiet for a long while before he finally spoke: “I was the one who reported my suspicions to His Majesty.”
“I know,” Li Shuang’s simple answer struck Qin Lan like a heavy slap. He hung his head, unable to meet her eyes, but heard her continue, “If we could keep the future Western Rong crown prince as a hostage, he would be the greatest guarantee of the peace treaty between Da Jin and Western Rong for a long time to come. What you did was good for Da Jin. I was the wrong one.”
From the emperor’s perspective, from Da Jin’s perspective, and even from Li Shuang’s former perspective, she deserved this imprisonment. It wasn’t unjust, so since her imprisonment, she hadn’t offered any defense for her actions.
But Qin Lan’s expression grew increasingly strained until the veins on his forehead seemed ready to burst: “No! It wasn’t for loyalty to the emperor or love of country!” His voice was low but filled with chaos and hatred—hatred for the departed Jin’an and himself. “I was just jealous! General, I was just jealous. I… for you…” Even in such an outburst, he still bit back his words.
Those long-suppressed feelings of love, compressed and accumulated again, could explode in his chest but couldn’t be spoken to Li Shuang.
Li Shuang simply watched his struggle, understanding his meaning but unable to do anything about it.
Perhaps at first, they were only separated by status, but now they were separated by a heart:
“Qin Lan,” Li Shuang said calmly, “I am no longer a general, just a prisoner now. I no longer need or deserve personal guards. After you return today, give the head guard’s token to Father. With your abilities, you shouldn’t stop here.”
Qin Lan finally raised his head to look at Li Shuang, seeing her eyes calm, her expression unchanged, as if her words were just another ordinary command like those she used to give—ordering soldiers to train, ordering troops to prepare, ordering him to stay by her side day after day.
But she was telling him to leave.
“Take care of yourself.”
Qin Lan’s eyes suddenly emptied. He knew Li Shuang too well, so he knew she meant it now. She no longer needed personal guards, nor did she need him.
The air in the prison seemed dead. Qin Lan’s back seemed to turn to stone as he bowed deeply, the sound of his bones grinding as if about to break: “Yes.”
He stood up, like a soul-stolen wanderer, and began to leave.
“Qin Lan,” Li Shuang suddenly called out to him. A tiny spark lit in Qin Lan’s eyes as he turned half his face, only to hear Li Shuang ask, “Do you… have any news of him?”
The last flame extinguished as he answered softly: “I heard some martial arts sects are helping him, but his whereabouts are unknown. There’s no news of his return to Western Rong.”
“Oh.” Li Shuang nodded. “Thank you.”
“Gen…” Qin Lan paused, “My lady, please stay at ease in prison for a few more days. The Grand General will surely find a way to free you.”
“Mm.”
Qin Lan turned back, walking step by step toward the prison exit, each step taking him further from Li Shuang’s breath.
The path ahead seemed so dark he couldn’t see it, he only knew he should walk forward because that was what Li Shuang wanted, but where to go, how to proceed, where to place the next step…
At this moment, it all seemed to have become a mystery.
After Qin Lan’s figure disappeared from the cabinet prison, Li Shuang finally let out a soft sigh. It had been over ten years since she first met Qin Lan, and the memories seemed still vivid. She closed her eyes and rested for a while.
It was comforting, though, that Qin Lan said martial arts sects were helping Jin’an—it must be the Five Spirits Sect.
If Jin’an were alone, getting from the capital to Da Jin’s border might be very troublesome. First, his appearance was too distinctive and easily noticed; second, Li Shuang worried the money she had left in the underground chamber at White Temple wouldn’t be enough to support him until he left Da Jin.
But with the Five Spirits Sect involved, someone as clever as Wu Yin wouldn’t let Jin’an go without resources.
Li Shuang leaned against the wall, thinking about these things, dozing off until afternoon. As the sun was setting, she glimpsed movement outside the prison and saw someone wearing a jailer’s clothes.
The previous jailer who brought food was always polite to Li Shuang, addressing her as “young lady” each time before carefully placing her meals by the cell door.
Today’s jailer didn’t call out to her.
Li Shuang thought perhaps she had been sleeping and he didn’t want to disturb her, so she greeted him: “What’s for dinner today?” Having been imprisoned for so long, she had few chances to speak each day, and even a jailer could help pass the time.
“Ah… oh… vegetables, rice, and some meat.”
Li Shuang raised an eyebrow: “There’s meat? I must try it properly.”
She hadn’t tasted meat for too long in this prison.
The next morning, shocking news spread from the cabinet prison throughout the court and city: The Grand General’s daughter, former Changfeng Battalion Commander Li Shuang, had suddenly died of illness in the cabinet prison. When the Grand General heard this news at court, his blood surged and his old illness returned, forcing him to leave morning court and return home to recuperate.
Li Shuang had always been the Grand General’s pride—a daughter who fought for the country on battlefields that made even men tremble, now meeting her end by sudden death in prison.
The Grand General claimed illness and didn’t attend court for five consecutive days, creating an extraordinarily strange atmosphere between the emperor and the General’s household.
The entire capital fell into an eerie silence.
But news of Li Shuang’s death grew wings, spreading from the capital through the people’s mouths like willow catkins blown by the wind, floating and drifting thousands of miles.