Uncle Wen had an instinctive sense that two deaths in the same cell on consecutive days was not a good situation.

His suggestion that Zhù Ying go check on Old Hu had come from a dim premonition that something had happened to Old Hu — and a plan to push this soft young newcomer in front as a shield. If it came to questions, he could say: this was the last person to check on Old Hu, so if there was a beating to be given, give it to this one first.

Zhù Ying’s behavior over the past two days had been exactly that of a naive young person who had just absorbed a string of street-side advice from some experienced old auntie about “being more shrewd, never agreeing to anything anyone asks, always asking the price before accepting something from someone, bargaining it down first” — the kind of person who opens their mouth with “how much?” Such a person was perfect for taking the fall.

His cold expression was partly intended to frighten Zhù Ying into submission first. A young person — what experience could they have had? Easy to control.

Then he heard this reply.

What Zhù Ying had said was entirely foolish! The man was dead — what did a coat, a blanket, a grass mat matter now?

Uncle Wen was about to press harder, when jailers arrived to take Old Hu’s body to the coroner for an autopsy.

Zhù Ying stepped back to a corner.

She wasn’t worried. An autopsy couldn’t lead back to her. She went ahead and tidied her sleeping space as she had planned. The sleeping order now was: Old Ma, Old Mu the lean wiry prisoner, her, Uncle Wen. Uncle Wen was at the end, the sleeping space right next to the chamber pot.

Old Ma looked her over and gave a small nod; she gave a small nod back.

The body was removed. The conclusion: “Chopsticks driven through the eye sockets into the brain, person died.” Deaths in prison were far too common. Pan Bao’s kind of “accident” was unremarkable; this prison also saw bullying deaths, and enemies settling old scores — all sorts. Old Hu was no weak prisoner; he had enemies beyond counting. Even if the jailers wanted to investigate, they had nothing to go on. They decided simply not to bother.

Though this time there was one difference: several jailers and the warden conferred, all feeling that “two consecutive deaths by chopstick in the same cell was suspicious. What should be done to make sense of it?”

“I’m a warden, not a magistrate! What’s his salary versus mine?”

“Well — since none of you will say it, I will: isn’t everyone just afraid the deputy magistrate will hold us accountable?”

The jailers’ salary — barely above starving to death. Squeezing extras from prisoners was all they had. Skimming prisoners’ rations and the larger profits from prisoner exploitation all went to those above them. The jailers just went through the motions. Making everything clear and above-board was never their responsibility.

Unfortunately, they had a deputy magistrate who either was addled by too much book-learning or had ulterior motives — and genuinely started attending to these things. Without the deputy magistrate’s meddling, they wouldn’t have even bothered providing the stalks! Let the reed mats be worn out — worn out is worn out! The prisoners could deal with it. They deserved it. Next life, be born into a better family — then in jail you too could have a private cell, even hire food and women.

But now, two deaths in a row: the deputy magistrate would likely want an explanation, or at least some pretext. For Pan Bao, the “accident” evidence was solid and the story was plausible. But for Old Hu, they worried the deputy magistrate might ask too many questions. If he found them guilty of negligence and gave them twenty strokes each — who would there be to complain to?

The warden called the jailers out to the space beyond the main lattice and asked quietly: “Didn’t I tell you not to give them chopsticks? How did something go wrong again?!”

The jailers cursed their luck eight hundred times internally and could only say: “Starting this morning, those wretches won’t be getting chopsticks!” They weren’t afraid of prisoners dying — dead was dead, nothing to worry about. They only feared being blamed from above. This angle the warden had found was novel and left them thoroughly dissatisfied. Who nit-picks like this?

Someone worked up enough nerve to say: “Even if filial children and devoted grandchildren were there to wait on him hand and foot, no one lives a thousand years! Dead is dead!”

The warden spat: “Pfft! I don’t care if you’re some demon or immortal! Dead is dead! All I need is to get past the deputy magistrate’s questioning! Go! Find me an explanation!”

Pan Bao’s death — the accident evidence was solid. For Old Hu, they needed a story that held up.

The jailers had no choice but to accept their bad luck, give the cell a scare, and do a round of questioning.

The jailer swept a stern gaze over the cell’s prisoners: “Talk! What happened?!”

Uncle Wen was the cell’s most articulate voice and hastily said: “It was all an accident — accidents happen! How can people not die in a jail? The yin energy in this place is heavy; it might well be vengeful ghosts coming to collect a debt.”

“Is that so? Did any of you see a ghost?” the jailer asked sharply!

When the jailer’s gaze swept to Zhù Ying, she darted a quick glance at Uncle Wen. The warden’s brow furrowed. He cursed Uncle Wen: “Always full of schemes, you — were you the one playing tricks?”

Zhù Ying darted another glance at Uncle Wen. This second glance, the warden noticed as well.

The warden suddenly announced: “All of you come up one by one — I’m interrogating each one separately, no comparing stories!”

——

Zhù Ying sat cross-legged on her grass mat. The long oval rush cushion she had woven was spread on the sleeping planks; the first small, thin mat was rolled up as a pillow. A blanket, folded in half, was spread over the straw cushion — a passable sleeping arrangement. She sat on the straw mat with another blanket folded neatly behind her. Her body was dressed in the leather robe, recovered and worn inside-out, with a prison tunic over it.

It might have seemed impolite to have three blankets to herself — she used one for the mat, one for covering, and knowing a third blanket would be warmer, she still took the third one, folded it properly, and gave it to Old Ma.

Then she was hauled away by the jailers for individual questioning.

She had been hand-selected by the warden: “Start with that young one — ask questions first! Young, timid, just arrived; easiest to get something out of. Even the smallest lead will be enough to satisfy the deputy magistrate.”

So Zhù Ying received this honor.

Before questioning her, the warden asked the jailers: “What’s this one called? What’s the background?”

Most unfortunately, the jailers didn’t know!

So Zhù Ying was brought out beyond the wooden lattice, first slapped several times across the head, and then the very first question put to her was: “What’s your surname? What’s your name? What crime did you commit?”

Zhù Ying thought: I’d like to know myself. What she actually said was: “I don’t know.”

She shook her head and said: “I was just having dinner at home when the Wannian County runners came to the door and took me away and locked me up. Then I was transferred here from the Wannian County duty room. No one ever told me why.”

This sort of thing — an experienced warden would know well enough: probably some runner had done something sloppy, or there was some other reason. No matter — they couldn’t figure it out anyway; whoever had made the arrangement would eventually come looking, since the person was in their hands. No need to worry about it further.

The warden didn’t bother pursuing the reason for the arrest, and also concluded that someone who had been mistakenly thrown in here had little to do with the other prisoners. He skipped the question and asked: “You were in the same cell as Hu Da?”

“Mm.”

“How did he die?”

“What?”

“What did you see or hear last night?”

Zhù Ying said innocently: “I — that — at night I can’t see.”

The younger jailer said: “Nonsense — you’re not blind; how can you not see at night?”

The warden had already nodded and moved on to the next question: “Yesterday — did Hu Da have any quarrel with the others?”

Zhù Ying seemed to recall something: “He and Uncle Wen had a scuffle.”

The warden asked further: “What were the others doing?”

Zhù Ying shook her head: “I wasn’t paying attention. I really wasn’t — I was weaving the mat the whole time. Old Hu said if I didn’t finish it, he’d…” Her voice trailed off.

“What mat?”

Zhù Ying looked almost as if she were reporting a grievance: “He stole my winter coat, so the sleeping planks were cold, and I wove a grass mat to go underneath. He saw it and told me to weave one for him. There wasn’t enough straw, so he had to take from Uncle Wen’s side. I just wove it all day.” She touched her cheek.

The jailer and warden both looked at her. The marks on her cheek hadn’t fully faded. They understood at once. In jail this kind of thing was common: bullying the new arrival. Zhù Ying looked like an underage person, thin and slight, with a perfectly harmless-looking face — beaten, put to work, robbed. Nothing unusual.

The jailer and warden found nothing noteworthy in this. What jail didn’t have a cell bully — that would have been strange. The younger jailer, seeing her looking pleasant-featured and fine, added a remark: “What was your offense? Didn’t you think about getting out?”

Zhù Ying said: “No one said. Uncle Wen said if I paid him twenty — oh, Pan Bao died, so it went up to twenty-five strings — he could get me out. I have no money…”

The warden didn’t let her finish and cut her off: “Go — send Old Ma in!”

Zhù Ying moved back a few steps obediently, then stopped, her expression somewhat hesitant. She asked again: “Sir — what was my crime? Could you tell me…”

The warden waved a hand; another jailer drove her off: “So many questions! Get out!”

Zhù Ying moved off. She had already concluded internally that Zhou You was the one making her life miserable. Making it into a bigger scene and drawing Zhou You in would only make things worse for her — she had dropped just a hint, left a small trace. These past two days she had heard many good things about the prefecture’s deputy magistrate. She still harbored the thought: “Zheng Xi is away from the capital, but this deputy magistrate seems principled — if he takes notice of my case even slightly, I might get home a couple days earlier.”

Two people dead now. Surely the deputy magistrate would get involved? Zhù Ying thought.

The younger jailer turned to roll his eyes at her departing back, then asked the warden: “There’s something off about this one — all that about not seeing at night — why didn’t you press harder? He definitely knows something. A bit of the ankle-press would squeeze out everything!”

The warden said: “You, boy — you’ve just been too comfortable growing up, never known hardship. That’s night blindness. Common among the poor — comes from eating badly. Get a few days of decent food and it goes away!”

“Eh?”

The warden said: “You’ll understand as you get older. Your father and I are sworn brothers, so as your uncle I’m not about to skip an opportunity to teach you. Watch carefully. First bring that Old Ma over, then pull two of the prisoners from the cell across the way!”

After questioning Old Ma and two inmates from the opposite cell, Zhù Ying’s account was corroborated. On the previous day, many people had witnessed the fiasco between Old Hu and Uncle Wen. Yes, we all saw it — Old Hu had even “requisitioned” the litigation shyster’s stalks and beaten the shyster for good measure! The prisoners also supplied information on the old grudge between Old Hu and Uncle Wen — the shyster had taken money and failed to get Old Hu out of prison; Old Hu had still ended up in this main jail at the deputy magistrate’s hands.

The warden and jailers hauled Uncle Wen in next! They were far less “considerate” with him than they had been with Zhù Ying, and the beating was harder from the start. They had already in their hearts decided Uncle Wen must be involved!

“Talk! Weren’t you harboring a grudge and killed Hu Da?!”

Uncle Wen was beaten senseless: “It wasn’t me!”

“If not you, then who?!”

Still refusing to confess with all this evidence? The jailers went straight to a fresh round of beating! Uncle Wen was genuinely out of luck — the very business he plied was taking on litigation, and the authorities viewed him as “cunning and deceitful” through and through. Given enough money, this wretch would personally cut out his conscience and feed it to dogs!

Old Hu had beaten him, and he wouldn’t seek revenge?

Impossible!

Like it or not, this pot was his to wear!

Pitiful Uncle Wen — for all his schemes and calculations, a hundred stratagems and more — he was condemned by the warden and jailers before the inquiry even began: they had already decided internally to hang this on him. It had to be this man, clever as a hundred foxes, who had secretly kept chopsticks, nursed his grudge against Old Hu, and murdered him in the night! The warden and jailers didn’t even need to solve the case completely — they only needed Uncle Wen to confess under torture that he “harbored a grudge” and set his mark to that. The jailers left satisfied, dragging Uncle Wen back to the cell like a dead dog and tossing him in!

——

Uncle Wen was thrown on the floor. Old Ma didn’t go to help him up; Old Mu didn’t go to deal with him either; Zhù Ying didn’t even glance at him.

The sleeping area was now divided three ways. Old Mu — seeing that Old Ma and Zhù Ying both had two blankets — had quite naturally drawn Uncle Wen’s blanket over and spread it out for himself. The three sleeping spaces were all neatly arranged; apart from Zhù Ying’s spot having the grass mat while the other two had stalks, each person had two blankets. Three people’s bedding was settled.

The sleeping area was fairly long; the three lay some distance apart from each other, still leaving a small section at the far end for Uncle Wen.

Zhù Ying also moved the chamber pot to a new position — farther from the sleeping planks. These prisoners really had no sense — why keep the chamber pot so close to one particular sleeping spot?! Couldn’t they just shift it a little further toward the edge? These wretches — they were clearly tormenting new arrivals on purpose.

I’m different, Zhù Ying thought. I’m a reasonable person.

She generously said to Old Ma and Old Mu: “Would you like a pillow and mat? Only thing is, I’ll be a bit slow — my hands hurt.” She showed her fingers.

Old Ma smiled and looked at Uncle Wen, thrown on the floor: “Ask your Uncle Wen.”

Zhù Ying shook her head: “He’s not a good person.”

Old Ma raised an eyebrow. Zhù Ying said: “He figured out first thing this morning that something had happened to Old Hu, and deliberately sent me to check — trying to use me as a shield.”

Old Ma laughed out loud.

Zhù Ying also asked the lean wiry prisoner what to call him; the man said: “With your age, just call me Old Mu. What’s your name?”

Zhù Ying said: “Third.”

She casually pulled at some stalks and started braiding them between her fingers. From other cells came a commotion: “Got it, got it!” Zhù Ying went to look — the prisoners had caught a fat rat and were debating whether to eat it. Zhù Ying said: “It’s not even a bamboo rat…”

Old Mu laughed.

Old Ma said: “Young one, don’t go stirring up more trouble.”

Zhù Ying said: “I don’t go looking for trouble, and I don’t fear it when it comes. I’m just waiting to go home.”

Old Ma, Old Mu, and Zhù Ying sat on the sleeping planks chatting. Old Ma asked: “Young one — why are you in here?”

Zhù Ying said candidly: “I still can’t fully work that out. Probably someone up above decided I needed some life experience.” She held out her right index finger and pointed upward, thinking of the Heavens above. As for whatever Old Ma and Old Mu made of it — that was their business.

Old Mu asked: “What’s going on outside? What temple did you light incense at?”

Zhù Ying said: “I just arrived here myself — don’t ask me too much; I won’t ask you too much either. Right now the capital has all sorts of powers showing their abilities. I can’t make complete sense of it.”

The three of them chatted at a leisurely pace, treating Uncle Wen as nonexistent.

At mealtime, no one fetched Uncle Wen a bowl of food; no one gave him a blanket at bedtime. Uncle Wen struggled up onto the sleeping planks and tried to grab Zhù Ying’s blanket. Zhù Ying brought a knee up and he tumbled off the planks and wriggled on the floor for quite some time.

Uncle Wen could barely believe his situation. He raised his head and glared at Zhù Ying: “You!”

Zhù Ying looked at him expressionlessly: “Go away.”

Old Mu said one word: “Scram!” This was enough to frighten Uncle Wen into cowering beside the chamber pot.

This was something that often happened in jail — there was always someone being bullied, some even bullied to death. Some because they were weak, some because of bad luck, some because they were disliked. The stories circulating outside about certain types of criminals being despised and beaten by their cellmates were not entirely accurate — take Pan Bao: he had gotten along quite well in here before.

Uncle Wen had always dealt with all sorts of underworld figures and riff-raff, always managing to take his cut, always finding a way to profit from those who lived by the blade. Yet from the moment he entered this cell, he had not earned a single coin — and had instead ended up in this situation! He let out a wail: “Someone help! I’m freezing to death! I’m innocent…”

This too was a regular performance in the prison: crying injustice, cursing, the usual program. The jailer opened the outer lattice, came in and slashed at everyone within reach through the bars with his sword scabbard, then cursed at Zhù Ying and the others: “You wretches! Why haven’t you gotten him onto the sleeping planks?!”

Zhù Ying didn’t resist the order — she jumped down from the planks and grabbed Uncle Wen by one leg, dragging him toward the planks. Old Mu jumped down and grabbed the other leg; the two of them hoisted Uncle Wen onto the planks. Old Mu’s eyes were sharp enough even in the dark — he had no night blindness — and asked Zhù Ying: “What are you doing?”

Since being fed well, Zhù Ying didn’t suffer from night blindness either. She said: “I was afraid he’d bite me.”

She still had two old prison tunics from the bodies that hadn’t been reclaimed yet — in the chaos of two deaths, the jailers hadn’t come around to collect the garments. She stripped off the torn, broken tunic she had on and replaced it with the more intact one. Using the torn one, she stuffed it into Uncle Wen’s mouth; then used the other old tunic to bind his hands and feet. She pulled some straw over Uncle Wen’s body, and then settled down to sleep in peace.

Old Ma said: “Young one, that’s harsh.”

Zhù Ying said: “If you’d like, I could kindly pass him to you to warm your bed. Want him?”

Old Ma said: “No.”

“Old Ma, that’s harsh,” Zhù Ying said.

Old Mu gave a rare laugh: “You two! Old Ma I know well — but you, young one, you also…”

Zhù Ying said: “Think about it — would he get up in the night to bite me to death? He wouldn’t dare touch you two, but he thinks I’m something he can bully; the moment he can’t bully me, he turns to hatred. People like him feel they’ve been wronged if they can’t get the upper hand. Trust me — I give him to you, take him.”

Old Mu didn’t respond.

All three slept well through the night. The next morning, Zhù Ying removed the prison tunic binding Uncle Wen and found the man was already running a high fever. Zhù Ying didn’t take the opportunity to kick him further while he was down, but she had no inclination to nurse him either.

She left Uncle Wen alone, but the jailers would not leave him alone — they dragged him out for another round of interrogation. As expected, nothing useful was extracted — this affair truly was not Uncle Wen’s doing.

After a thorough beating, Uncle Wen was thrown back in. The other three continued to ignore him. The three chatted idly; Zhù Ying had a good memory and casually described the sights of the capital she had seen since arriving, and Old Ma closed his eyes and said: “Things will have to get messier before they settle. Young one, don’t resent this place — it’s far quieter than outside.”

Old Mu said: “You can say that — I still have brothers out there I worry about.”

Old Ma said: “Now that you’re in here, just settle down. Those brothers of yours outside — if they don’t stop, they’ll be beaten to death for sure!”

Both Old Mu and Zhù Ying asked: “Why?”

Old Ma was an old hand and began speaking of a clear official he had seen twenty years ago. A “just judge” in the eyes of the common people didn’t need to be particularly benevolent or gentle — only willing to bring down hard justice on those who oppressed the common people. Old Ma jutted out his chin: “Gangsters, hoodlums, local troublemakers, even shyster lawyers and tattooed men — caught them, beat them to death on the spot. The streets became peaceful, and the people called him a just judge and wanted to build him a shrine while he was still living! Once the troublemakers were gone, even if he spent his days sleeping and drinking, as long as the peace held, the people would sing his praises. This current one has a bit of that same quality — though he shows more inclination toward going by the rules.”

Having seen this as a young man, Old Ma could read the signs when the streets grew unsettled; he had checked himself in here partly to sit out the storm in the underworld, but more to avoid the weight of the government’s heavy fist.

Zhù Ying said: “If he were that fearsome, how were Old Hu and Pan Bao still committing crimes? I don’t believe it! What kind of backing did they have?”

Old Ma said: “This is only the beginning. He’s only a deputy magistrate — wait until he climbs a bit higher! Old Hu? A dog of the Duke of the Pacifying Nation’s household. Pan Bao — just an idiot. These aren’t our affairs. Their kind is what you call the ‘court.’ We are ‘the rivers and lakes.’ But they always want to try to control us — look: over there, that one trafficked sons and daughters from decent families; that one swindled an old widower out of his pension… people like these, half of them wouldn’t have been arrested in the old days. All arrested now. This deputy magistrate — well, he’s actually a decent official. If there were officials like this in the world, I might not have gone into the rivers and lakes in the first place. But by the time I was already in, such an official shows up to clean house, and it’s called my fault…” He gave a wry laugh.

He rarely spoke so many words at once — clearly it came from somewhere deep.

Zhù Ying listened carefully as Old Ma spoke of matters of the underworld, occasionally inserting a word about something she had seen — saying very little, but enough for Old Ma to hear: “You’re not a local from the capital?”

Zhù Ying said: “Mm. Just arrived in the capital.”

Old Ma said: “Then don’t be too reckless.”

Zhù Ying said: “Even if I wanted to be reckless, I don’t have the strength for it.”

Old Ma said: “So what exactly was your offense, and who did you end up crossing?”

Zhù Ying said with a wry smile: “I didn’t come in here for committing an offense. I know the law codes better than I know the boards beneath me. How would I end up here for committing an offense? It’s a matter of bad luck.”

Old Mu said: “So you just had bad luck, then.” It seemed she had simply been thrown in here to suffer — just no one had expected that in three days in here, she would take down three people.

——

Zhù Ying’s luck was indeed not good. When she had been questioned separately and mentioned she had been transferred from Wannian County, six months earlier a warden might not have thought anything of it. But now, with a conscientious deputy magistrate, the warden had no choice but to inquire with Wannian County: what’s going on with you?

Wannian County traced the matter back and said it was the prefecture’s runners who had made the arrest. The warden returned to the prefecture to question the runners, and after two days of back-and-forth, finally tracked down the clerk who had arranged it. This clerk hadn’t arranged it for his own business; he heard the warden pressing him and said: “It was on the young master’s orders.”

The warden said: “Do you have a death wish? What can that young master do to you? If the deputy magistrate finds out, you’ll be flogged and stripped of your post — what will you live on? Give me a proper answer: what’s to be done with this?”

The clerk went to find the young scion and asked: “Young master — that young person who was grabbed that day — what should be done with them?”

The young scion had been drunk when he gave the order. After a few more rounds of drinking and a couple of days with his pretty maidservant, he had entirely forgotten the matter. He even asked: “What day? What young person? Done with what?”

The clerk was dumbfounded. He had gone to all this trouble to curry favor with this young master by having someone arrested, and now the man had forgotten?

The young scion, seeing the clerk’s face, felt somewhat embarrassed, and said: “Wait — it’s not exactly my affair. Let me ask around.”

He went to ask Zhou You, who himself had merely spotted Zhù Ying on the street and said a few displeased words — he hadn’t even actually given a “teach her a lesson” order. It was this good friend who had taken it upon himself to get things started first. Zhou You had been having a thoroughly miserable time lately: his beloved Uncle Zhong Yi had submitted a resignation and was at home, and a man at leisure who loved to lecture would naturally seize on every opportunity — grouping him together with his own son for correction sessions. Zhong Yi truly treated Zhou You like his own, which meant the closer the treatment, the harsher the lecturing.

Zhou You was experiencing neither life nor death from it every day, too occupied to play with his friends. The friend who came asking said: “That fair-skinned young person — what do you want done with them?”

Zhou You had completely forgotten. “What? Done with what?”

The two simpletons talked past each other for quite a while before Zhou You worked out the picture: “Oh — it was that one! Hey! You people arrested him?! I…”

He had intended to go see Zhù Ying in her sorry state in order to mock her for following Zheng Xi and having no future. But he was locked down tight by Zhong Yi and couldn’t go wandering into the prefectural jail — so he said: “Keep him a while, hold him carefully, don’t let him die or escape, wait until I can sneak out! Heh heh! Don’t let any messages get through! Ha ha! I want to laugh in Zheng Seventh’s face in person!”

But once the twelfth month arrived, he simply had no time. The Emperor was not only dissatisfied with Zhong Yi’s handling of his assignment but also felt Zhou You still had potential, and was pressing him to study seriously rather than wandering around. And with the New Year approaching, the closer it got, the more his mother and grandmother watched over him to attend social obligations — he was the household’s only male, so if he didn’t make appearances, who would?

Caught up in all this, he let “Zheng Xi’s little attendant” slip from his mind completely.

Zhù Ying, in the prefectural jail, had never counted on Zhou You having a sudden change of heart and releasing her. She was waiting for the deputy magistrate to look into cases, or for Zheng Xi to return to the capital. Unfortunately the deputy magistrate had too much on his plate and had actually fallen ill from overwork, and there was still no news of Zheng Xi.

And because of one word from Zhou You, the warden had moved Zhù Ying to a private single cell deeper inside.

The reason for this, Zhù Ying was even further from being able to know.

The private single cell was a far better arrangement than the communal sleeping area outside: there was actually a single proper bed, fairly clean bedding, and even a washstand with a basin on it! There was a window in the wall — not a small one, also sealed with wooden bars, with about a foot of space above the ceiling.

The grass mat she had woven herself she had no way of bringing in, so she left it all for Old Ma and Old Mu. Uncle Wen was still barely alive in the cell; Old Ma and Old Mu had no time to see to him. She looked at the air window with only a foot of clearance from the ceiling, then looked at the shackles on her wrists, and concluded that Heaven was genuinely making things difficult for her on purpose.

This cell door was also thick solid planking, with a foot-square opening cut into it covered by a lattice, for viewing in from outside.

The door closed with a heavy thud behind her. Zhù Ying sighed, felt for her key, removed the copper ring it was attached to, straightened it out, gave it a few deft bends — click, click — and freed herself from the shackles.

She had expected she might be able to wait in the main prison for the deputy magistrate or Zheng Xi. Instead, not only had no one come to release her — she had been placed in solitary confinement. The situation seemed to have gotten more serious!

Zhù Ying lay down on the bed and thought seriously about one pressing question: should she make her own way out of here?

The window in the wall was more than a person’s height above the ground. Standing below and reaching up as high as possible, she still couldn’t touch the sill. But this was no obstacle to Zhù Ying — she could use the bed or the washstand to boost herself and grab hold of the bars. The window, while not large, fit a ten-or-so-year-old child whose bones were not yet fully formed. Wearing just her inner clothing and with the bars removed, she could squeeze out.

This prison was half underground. Climbing up to the window would take some effort, but the distance from that window to ground level outside was probably only a foot or two.

The main concern was whether there were guards patrolling outside the window.

Or she could observe the patrol pattern from outside. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to see any patrols through the window.

While Zhù Ying was working through these calculations, the cell across the way stirred. She quickly put her shackles back on. She went to the door, stood on her toes, and peered through — two prisoners were carrying a large bucket of hot water into the cell directly opposite, the same cell where food boxes were delivered every day.

Only then did Zhù Ying think: she hadn’t washed her face or rinsed her mouth in several days. Bathing — in winter, poor people didn’t even think about it. Zhù Ying wasn’t that particular. But Zhang Xiangu had raised a daughter and taught that daughter that a face needed washing, teeth needed cleaning — a person couldn’t breathe on everyone with sour breath.

Zhù Ying spat out a couple of mouthfuls of saliva and felt the taste in her mouth lighten somewhat.

The jailer had the servants carry the water in and locked the door. Turning back, he found Zhù Ying at the cell door, and said: “What are you looking at? Get back and behave yourself! Once that noble’s temper cools, you’ll be let out!”

Zhù Ying thought: this jailer is in a good mood today?

When a wealthy person was in prison and the jailer had good money to extract — like now, with the hot water delivery earning him something on the side — his mood improved, and he was a bit kinder to Zhù Ying too. The other reason was that Zhou You’s instructions had been “hold carefully, don’t let him die or escape.” So they had moved Zhù Ying to a private cell and no longer treated her the way they treated the “wretches” outside. They were willing to exchange a few more words with her.

Zhù Ying sighed.

The jailer, seeing this was just a child, couldn’t help but feel some sympathy: “When you get out, behave yourself — bow your head, say sorry, don’t get yourself dragged back in! Stop being so stubborn. You can’t win against them. That’s just fate. I’ll give you an extra steamed bun when they bring the food.”

Zhù Ying noticed that when facing a single person rather than a whole cell of prisoners, the jailer’s manner was considerably more agreeable.

She thought for a moment, then said: “Thank you.” Watching the bath going on across the way — it would take a while yet — she stood at the cell door and chatted with the jailer for a bit. She said the jailer’s work was exhausting, having to watch over so many people — no wonder he sometimes had a temper. The jailer said: “Exactly! Who doesn’t know that getting along goes better?!”

Zhù Ying said: “It’s like doing work — if you have just one task and do it properly and carefully, that’s good. If you have ten tasks, your temper starts to rise. One task brings its reward; ten tasks bringing ten times the reward — that’s worth it. The only fear is ten tasks bringing less reward than two.”

“That’s right!” the jailer agreed, then said: “Say — you’ve got quite the clever mouth! So how did you go and offend a noble?”

Zhù Ying said: “I’m just someone who does work — I only know how to talk about work, not how to say flattering things. Saying what’s true just makes people uncomfortable.”

The jailer felt even more sympathetic.

By the end of their conversation, the people in the cell across the way had finished bathing with some hot water still to spare. Zhù Ying had by then talked the jailer into bringing a basin of warm water for her. She rinsed her mouth, washed her face, and used the remaining water to wash her feet. Putting on her socks again, she said: “Much obliged. If you’re ever bored, come talk to me!”

The jailer said: “Sure! When you get out, let’s go have tea together.”