Hot flashes

There was no light in the passageway of the Ministry of Justice prison.

The torch was stuck in the iron hoop on the wall, and the crackling sound of burning grease was amplified many times in the narrow space, like someone constantly tearing something in your ear.

The damp, musty smell, mixed with the stench of rust, old blood, and feces, pressed down layer upon layer, thick as an invisible wall.

Every ten steps or so there was an iron gate, and the sound of the lock being opened bounced back and forth in the passageway, carrying far away before returning, becoming a distorted and indistinct echo.

The jailer walked at the front, his keys clinking at his waist, each step producing a series of soft, metallic sounds.

He dared not look back, nor walk too fast. He could only try to make his back look less stiff, but beads of sweat had already slid down from his temples and into his collar, soaking a large patch of his clothes on the back.

The person behind him, wearing a black cloak, walked very lightly, like a cat treading on snow, but every step felt like it was treading on his heart.

At the end of the passageway was a thicker and heavier iron door than the ones before it. The door had no windows, only a small food delivery opening, which was tightly closed at the moment, with a faint sliver of light shining through the crack.

The jailer stopped, fumbled around on the keychain for a long time before finding the largest key, inserting it into the lock, and turning it twice. The iron door let out a dull groan and slowly pushed open inward.

Xiao Jue stepped across the threshold.

The cell was small, with three sides made of brick walls reaching the roof and one side made of iron bars as thick as a bowl. A layer of dry grass was laid on the floor, and a low table was placed in the corner with an oil lamp, a bowl of water, and a plate of cold steamed buns on it.

Shen Yu sat on the dry grass, leaning against the wall, with his eyes closed. He was still wearing the official robe he had been taken away in, but the hem of the robe was wrinkled in a few places and the collar was a little crooked.

Hearing the noise, he opened his eyes, his gaze passing over the flickering oil lamp and landing on the person in the doorway wearing a black cloak.

The two men stared at each other across the oil lamp, neither speaking first. The flame flickered in the airflow between them, almost going out, then stabilizing, casting their shadows on the wall behind them—one tall, the other slender, separated by a distance that seemed like an unbridgeable chasm.

Xiao Jue walked over and sat down opposite the low table. The hem of his cloak trailed on the dry straw, covered with some crumbs, but he didn't brush them off.

Shen Yu watched him sit down, observing his movements—unhurried and unhurried, exactly the same as back in the Northern Army tent.

At that time, Xiao Jue had not yet declared himself king, nor had he even decided whether to rebel. Every night, he would stand in front of the map until late at night, and Shen Yu would sit beside him, analyzing the movements of various forces and helping him to carefully consider the wording of the letters of urging him to ascend the throne.

Shen Yu's gaze fell on Xiao Jue's temples. There were a few white hairs there, not many, mixed in with his black hair, like frost in early winter on unwithered grass, almost invisible unless you looked closely. But Shen Yu saw them.

He stared at it for a long time, then looked away and focused his gaze on his hands resting on his knees.

Those hands had prominent knuckles, loose skin, and age spots that had crept onto the backs of their hands in patches, like withered leaves falling on the water in autumn.

"Your Majesty shouldn't have come," Shen Yu said, his voice as steady as usual, except for a very subtle, almost imperceptible hoarseness at the end, like a loose string on a musical instrument.

Xiao Jue didn't respond to that. He looked at Shen Yu, at his gray hair, at his sunken eyes, at the creases in his collar.

This person had been by his side for over a decade, drafting countless imperial edicts for him, handling numerous thorny political affairs for him, and shielding him from countless arrows shot from the shadows.

He never lost his composure in public. His clothes were always neat and his hair was always combed meticulously. Even during the most difficult years in the North, when food supplies ran out, snow blocked the mountains, and the entire army was in danger of being wiped out at any time, he never let himself show the slightest sign of fatigue.

"Mr. Shen," Xiao Jue said.

Upon hearing those three words, Shen Yu closed his eyes briefly. He didn't respond, but his fingers twitched slightly inside his sleeve, as if burned by something.

"I've been wanting to ask you something," Xiao Jue said in a low voice, as if he were asking a very ordinary question.

Shen Yu opened his eyes and looked at him.

"When did you decide to abandon me?" Xiao Jue asked.

The words were spoken softly, but each one was like a nail, driven into Shen Yu's ears. Shen Yu's lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. His fingers curled even tighter in his sleeves, his nails digging into his palms, leaving four deep crescent-shaped marks.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered again.

The cell remained quiet for a long time, so long that the oil in the lamp had shrunk considerably, so long that the sliver of light coming in from the food delivery slot had moved from one end to the other.

Shen Yu finally spoke, his voice lower than before, as if squeezed from the deepest part of his chest, carrying a bitterness that even he himself had not expected.

"I have lived for over fifty years and read books my whole life. What I have learned from the classics are the principles of rulership and governance, the art of governing a country, and the way to save the world and bring peace to the people. I believe that by assisting Your Majesty, I can put into practice all the principles I have learned in my life."

Xiao Jue lowered his head, looking at the bowl of water on the low table that had gone cold. A thin film had formed on the surface of the water, and the light from the oil lamp fell on it, breaking into pieces of dark gold.

"The Master taught me," Xiao Jue began, his voice even lower than before, as if afraid of disturbing something, "that a ruler should put the world before himself. I have always remembered that."

Shen Yu lowered his head and looked at his hands resting on his knees. His hands were old, with prominent veins, loose skin, and age spots spreading from the back of his hands to his knuckles.

He spoke.

"I know and understand everything Your Majesty has done. The civil service examination system is correct, the disbanding of private armies is correct, and the suppression of powerful families is correct."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down once.

"Ke Chen's surname is Shen."