Chapter 124: Confession (1)

In the bone-chilling cold of the prison cell, the fog that puffed out from their mouths could form frost. But in this instant, it seemed as if no one was aware of the cold around them, their gazes flitting to Song Juguang.

"You think she's your older sister?" Jiang Changbai's fingertips sank into flesh, but her face still carried a smile. "How can you be certain?"

Song Juguang felt cold sweat emerge on the nape of her neck, and her gaze towards the girl grew harsher. There really was a dark red birthmark on her back, but only her bedfellow knew that.

The jailer, seeing that Jiang Changbai had asked a question, grabbed the girl's dishevelled hair. "You're running your mouth! Are these people you can implicate?"

As she, she was about to slap the girl, but Jiang Changbai called her to a halt.

"Wait."

Jiang Changbai raised a hand, grasping the jailer's wrist, the gold embroidery on her cuff giving off a cold light under the torch light. The next moment, she paced over to Song Juguang's side, her fingers faintly brushing over her back. She leaned in to Song Juguang's ear, and said quietly, "Does A Guang wish to clear herself of suspicion?"

Song Juguang's throat bobbed. She suddenly recalled the start of winter, six years prior, when floor heating within the Yangxin Hall had blazed with warmth. Jiang Changbai's fingers had stroked over that secret birthmark, and said it was like a plum blossom amidst the chaos. At the time, snow had been fluttering heavily outside the hall, and it had been as cold as bone-chilling wind in the Imperial Prison.

"Bixia, you jest," Song Juguang said, turning her head, the gaze she looked at Jiang Changbai with flashing with leaping flames, and in a voice only the toe of them could head, said, "the birthmarks on this minister's body, Bixia is most well-aware."

Those who had come with them had long since bowed their heads, terrified they'd see something they ought not to, or hear something they ought not. But that jailer was an outsider, and though she was cowardly, her gaze still faintly flickered over the two.

Jiang Changbai laughed quietly, and when she turned around, the cloak she wore raised a breeze. "Have this raving loon put away. Yunxing, take Us to see Qin Zhixun."

The chains rattled, the girl struggling, and she looked at Song Juguang as she cried out, "Jie!"

Song Juguang turned away, not looking at her, only hurriedly following after Jiang Changbai, and calling out lowly, "Bixia."

Jiang Changbai turned in response, and Song Juguang, shocked, was met with her gaze, which held a smile that wasn't quite a smile. At this moment, those eyes seemed like daggers, carving out the secrets that Song Juguang had hidden away in her heart for eighteen years.

"What."

"This minister wishes to question the criminal alone."

"You may not."

"Bixia!"

"We said you may not!" As she spoke, Jiang Changbai turned her hand over and grabbed Song Juguang, turning her head to order, "Have an imperial physician come treat her, and make sure she doesn't die."

Song Juguang wanted to say more, but Jiang Changbai dragged her out. Just as they were about to turn a corner, she turned her head and looked back, and saw the girl's eyes were terrifyingly bright, her dried and cracking lips parting and closing, as if she wanted to say something, but even with Song Juguang's keen hearing, she couldn't hear anything at all.

After who knew how long, the torch in the jailer's hand cast the mottled shadows of the iron bars on the wall once more. The girl, head lowered, didn't look at her, but she heard the sound of the chains rattling. Only at this did she raise her head, and saw that the jailer was opening her chains, a rough hemp rope rubbing brand new bloody lines on her already frostbitten wrists.

"You're going to kill me?" The girl shot a glance at the jailer, austerity flashing in her gaze.

Hearing her words, the jailer merely smiled, and draped a brand-new cotton robe on her body. "You really are lucky; this is a gift from someone important within the Palace."

The girl looked at the clothing on her, at a loss. It must really be cotton; it was soft as anything, and quite warm. She'd lived twenty-odd years, and not even once had she worn something like this.

Is it Jiejie?

The thought appeared suddenly in her mind. Actually, her memories of her older sister had already grown hazy. When they'd been parted, she'd only been five. But when she dreamed of the past at night, she always remembered that her older sister carrying her, singing her lullabies.

They were just as soft as this cotton outfit.

"Your betters have shown you grace, and ordered for you to be moved to a cleaner cell," the jailer said as she fastened new chains to her legs. "Hurry up."

Actually, the girl had already lost any interest in listening to what the jailer was saying. She'd initially thought she'd die in this prison, but now, she really had a new chance at life.

When she stepped out of the iron bars of the cell, she couldn't help but ask, "Who was that official?"

The jailer had seen her previous madness, and naturally she knew who she was asking about. But she merely shoved her up the stairs, and said disdainfully, "Of course she was from the Palace, and isn't to be asked about; careful, or you'll lose your life."

Hearing these words, the girl laughed at herself; losing her life—when she'd slipped into the relay station, she hadn't thought of living further. It was just a pity that she'd thought she could trade her life for Qin Zhixun's, and in the end, she'd thrown her life away, and had only injured her.

But on second thought, she was only a lowly poor commoner, and that was an important envoy. That person's life was far more precious than hers, so it was natural.

As she thought, the girl tripped, the chains rattling striking heavily against the stairs. Walking this way, there was a window, and though there weren't torches, it was no longer so dark you couldn't see your fingers in front of you. The moonlight crept in through the window, and the girl could suddenly see herself reflect in the shadow on the wall.

Even though it was somewhat twisted because of the iron bars, she could see her own dishevelled hair, and the hunch of her shoulders. Thinking of the important person she'd met just then, even if she truly were her own elder sister, she probably wouldn't be willing to acknowledge her, would she?

The new cell had a small window within it as well, and the moonlight crept in along with the cold. But, wrapped in her new cotton clothes, the girl didn't feel cold. She looked at the moon, satiny silver, which, in her eyes, was a novelty.

She already couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd looked this carefully at the moon.

The jailer locked the door and turned to leave, but seeing her out of the corner of her eye, in the end, she sighed. Suddenly, she felt as if this girl's face truly was somewhat similar to Song Juguang's, but she only dared to shove that thought away into the depth of her stomach.

"Please." Without the restriction of the cross, the girl's range of movement was much larger. As she called out, she threw herself at the iron bars, reaching out to try and grab at the jailer. But her wrists were both bound by shackles, and no matter how much she tried, it was in vain.

"Please," the girl mumbled, "please, let me see that official again."

"You'd best shut up," the jailer lowered her voice, her tone carrying revulsion, "that official's identity is incredibly valued, and she couldn't possibly be your older sister. Let go of the thought, and don't implicate me again."

But though her words were venomous, in the end, the jailer couldn't bear it fully, and from her breast, pulled out an oilpaper package and placed it within the bars. Without thinking, the girl opened it, and found it was roasted chicken, gleaming with fat.

"This was a gift for you from that person," the jailer said, unable to help but swallow back saliva. "I was going to eat it myself, but pitying you, I'm giving it back to you."

After she spoke, the jailer didn't dare to stay a moment longer, and she turned and left, as if fearing she'd regret it.

But the girl looked at the roasted chicken in the oilpaper, dazed.

She'd known from long ago that her life was worthless, and that was only living on prolonged, gasping breaths because King Yama didn't wish to take her life. Otherwise, why, in all these years, when everyone by her side had died, did she live healthily and well?

She didn't have relatives, nor did she have friends, and though she drew breath and lived, she was as lonely as a wandering ghost. Assassinating Qin Zhixun was merely a sudden urge; she'd thought hat, if she could exchange her worthless life for a foreign noble's, then it would be a bargain.

Right up until today, when she'd met Song Juguang.

She looked like her older sister, yet didn't, as well. Her older sister was gentle, and kind, like water. But this person was frigid, like the changqiang she'd glimpsed hung within the yamen when she'd passed by.

But she was certain that was her older sister. Because the face of her mother in her memories was half like Song Juguang's. The girl had long since forgotten her mother's voice, but that face seemed to have been carved into her mind, and she'd never dared forget it.

After all, if she forgot it, she wouldn't even have an origin.

The old prisoner within the cell nextdoor suddenly crawled up, reaching out to grab at the roasted chicken, eyes full of longing. Hesitation rose on the girl's face, and after a long while, she tore off half and handed it over.

The old woman seemed not to have expected the girl would do that, and in an instant, was overjoyed. She turned her head to look around, and then lowered her voice, and said, "That person you were talking about, that's the current Regent."

"The Regent?"

The girl had thought of the grandeur of Song Juguang's identity, but she'd never imagined that she was the famed Regent, and hesitance flashed in her gaze. The old woman, seeing her expression, slowly comforted, "She's as far away as the horizon…"

The girl had no desire to listen to anything further the old woman said; an idea was taking faint shape in her mind.

Elsewhere, in the Yangxin Hall, it was quite warm, the floor heating making crackling sounds, and strips of silver charcoal burnt slowly within the brazier. Jiang Changbai's tightly-clenched hands couldn't stop trembling, and Song Juguang knelt before her on the rug.

"A Guang," Jiang Changbai said, a faint, imperceptible waver in her voice when she spoke, "We ask you one last time, have you truly not concealed anything from Us?"

Song Juguang had faintly guessed that it was time for her to lay out the truth, but she, who had always been so willing to do as told, at this moment, suddenly couldn't say anything. She could only bow her head and stare at the patterns embroidered from gold thread on the rug, and stammer, "This minister wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't dare?" When Jiang Changbai rose, her skirts overturned the tea, and she stood before Song Juguang, looking down at her from on high. "The location of your birthmark that that prisoner spoke of is identical, and you've truly never met her?"

Jiang Changbai grasped Song Juguang's chin, and she was forced to raise her head and meet her gaze. "Does Bixia not believe this minister?"

"If We didn't believe you, would you be in the Yangxin Hall with Us now?"

The two held gazes like this, until two bright red fingerprints appeared on Song Juguang's face. Only after a long while did Song Juguang slowly say, "This minister has concealed things."

As she spoke, Song Juguang pulled her collar open, and something, who knew what, fell onto the rug with a sharp sound. "But…"

"Impudence!" Jiang Changbai suddenly retreated a step, nearly overturning the shelf of curios against the wall. Song Juguang pressed forward step by step, until Jiang Changbai was left with nowhere to retreat.

"Bixia said she trusts this minister." As she spoke, Song Juguang's fingers slipped gently over the back of Jiang Changbai's hand.

Jiang Changbai turned her hand over and grabbed Song Juguang's wrist, and realised that, beneath her palm, Song Juguang's pulse was racing. "Then tell Us, why, exactly, she was able to tell even the location of your birthmark on your back?"

The burning candle flames spat sparks, and it seemed as if flecks of gold flashed in Song Juguang's gaze for a split second. She suddenly laughed quietly, the breath from her nose striking against the tip of Jiang Changbai's ear as she spoke. "It must just be luck."

"Song Juguang!"

The tips of Jiang Changbai's ears flushed red, but her fingertips unconsciously stroked Song Juguang's hammering pulse. "We're asking you seriously."

"But this minister was merely responding," Song Juguang replied, expression innocent, and she suddenly leaned closer, and said, "does Bixia remember that this minister said you're the fated Emperor?"

Jiang Changbai suddenly recalled the day they'd met; at the time, Song Juguang had said the Heavens had chosen her. At the time, Jiang Changbai had only taken it as an excuse to place a puppet emperor on the throne, but at this moment, she suddenly believed it a bit more.

The next moment, Song Juguang pulled her hand out of Jiang Changbai's, and lightly traced her features. "You are the Emperor Star in the heavens, and this minister was drawn here by you."

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