chsdbacks Chapter 450 The Sky Has Collapsed! Madam Han Zhong's Worry and Despair!
Chapter 450 The Sky Has Collapsed! Madam Han Zhong's Worry and Despair!
Two golden-armored guards strode out from the side of the hall, one on the left and one on the right, grabbed Han Zhong's arms, and dragged him up from the ground.
Han Zhong's legs went weak, and he could barely stand. He was dragged along by the golden-armored guards, step by step, towards the palace gate.
The shackles dragged on the ground, making a clanging metallic sound.
Qin Mu stood in the center of the hall, hands behind his back, silently watching the increasingly distant, hunched figure.
.........
Heaven Prison.
It is cold and damp.
The air was thick with the smell of mold and a strong stench of blood, mixed with the stench of rotting straw and excrement, making one want to cover their nose as soon as they entered.
Every few steps along the stone walls on both sides of the passageway hangs an oil lamp, its faint flame flickering in the darkness, casting the passageway in an alternating light and shadow.
Like a road leading to hell, with no end in sight.
The cells on both sides held all sorts of prisoners, including notorious bandits who committed murder and arson, corrupt officials who accepted bribes, and traitors who colluded with the enemy.
They huddled on a pile of straw in the corner, some groaning, some weeping, some muttering to themselves, and some laughing wildly, their laughter echoing in the deep passageway like the hooting of an owl.
The golden-armored guards carried Han Zhong through one passageway after another, past one prison cell after another, until they stopped in front of the deepest, darkest cell.
The iron gate was rusted and the iron lock on it was as thick as a child's arm. The darkness that shone through the cracks in the gate was so thick that it seemed impossible to dissolve, like a giant beast with its mouth wide open.
The iron gate was pushed open with a sharp, teeth-grinding creak.
Han Zhong was pushed inside.
His knees slammed against the stone slab with a dull thud, and he collapsed onto the pile of straw, which reeked of mold and urine, but he couldn't smell it.
He just lay there, panting heavily.
The iron gate slammed shut behind him with a clang, the chains rattling a few times before falling silent.
He lay there for a long time before slowly turning over, leaning against the cold stone wall, raising his head, and looking at the cell opposite.
Then he froze.
In the cell across the way, there was someone he knew all too well.
The person was curled up in the corner, hugging their knees with their hands, burying their head in their arms, their whole body shrinking into a small ball.
His official robes were tattered and covered in blood and dirt, his hair was disheveled, and his face was covered in dried bloodstains.
His left arm was simply held in place with a few sticks and rags; it was clearly broken.
He heard the sound, slowly raised his head, revealing a pale face covered in blood and mud.
His lips were chapped and peeling, his eye sockets were sunken and bloodshot, and his pupils were unfocused, like a dried-up well.
Zhou Cheng.
Han Zhong's deputy general, the one who always stayed by his side, offering him advice and going through fire and water for him.
Han Zhong's face was gloomy, his lips were slightly parted as if he wanted to say something, but not a single word could be squeezed out of his throat.
His lips trembled twice, then he closed them again, lowered his eyes, and said nothing.
He didn't want to talk, and he didn't know what to say.
What are you saying?
To say, "You're in too?"
Say "Are you okay?"
Or should you say, "I'm sorry, I've dragged you into this"?
It's pointless.
everything is over.
Zhou Cheng also saw him.
A complex light flashed in his eyes, like despair, or perhaps self-mockery.
His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to call out "General," but the two words stuck in his throat and he couldn't utter them.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and the glimmer of light in his eyes dimmed, like a lamp blown out by the wind.
He closed his eyes, leaned against the cold stone wall, and stopped looking at Han Zhong and speaking.
He had only one thought in his mind.
It's over, it's over.
Given Han Zhong's crimes, how good could a mere deputy general like him possibly be?
Neither of them will survive.
Han Zhong leaned against the stone wall, gazing at the rusty iron gate. Images of his wife's face, his eldest daughter Han Xin'er's smile, and his youngest daughter hopping and skipping around with a bird flashed through his mind.
Those images, every single frame, are etched into his heart, so deeply that they can never be erased.
Han Zhong's eyes reddened again, and tears silently welled up and streamed down his blood-stained cheeks.
He was worried.
He worried about his wife, his children, and how they would manage in the future.
He was more worried that His Majesty's words, "Never mind, I won't make things difficult for them," were just casual remarks, a temporary expedient, or a momentary act of weakness.
He didn't believe the phrase "never mind".
He didn't believe His Majesty would really let them go, didn't believe His Majesty would really prevent them from entering the palace, and didn't believe His Majesty would really pretend nothing had happened.
He could never see through His Majesty's thoughts.
In the military camp on the southwestern frontier, the moment His Majesty lifted the tent flap and walked in, he thought he had seen through him, that His Majesty was just a powerful, ruthless, and unassuming figure.
But later, His Majesty made him act, made him cooperate, and made him lead Xu Longxiang into the trap step by step.
Those methods, those schemes, that precise control over people's hearts shocked him time and time again, filled him with fear time and time again, and made him feel time and time again that he would never be able to see through that person in his entire life.
He fears.
I fear His Majesty will change his mind, I fear His Majesty will bring his wife and daughter into the palace, I fear they will become that man's playthings, I fear they will suffer a fate worse than death.
The rumors about His Majesty's debauchery, the obscene stories circulating in the streets, tore at his mind like venomous snakes.
Han Zhong was extremely worried, but there was nothing he could do.
He was imprisoned in this dark and gloomy dungeon, unable to receive any news, no one listened to his pleas, and he couldn't even find a place to kowtow.
He could only sit here, leaning against the cold stone wall, staring at the rusty iron gate, letting his tears flow silently.
Han Zhong felt a chill in his heart.
I felt dizzy and my heart was ashen; I couldn't even feel the pain in my forehead anymore.
What is that pain compared to the pain in my heart?
The oil lamp flickered outside the iron gate, its flame shining and dimming, casting his long, lonely shadow on the mottled stone wall.
.........
Outside the imperial prison, at the Han residence.
Dusk seeped in through the cracks in the window, spreading a layer of hazy, gray light on the ground.
There were no lights on in the study. Liu Ruolan sat behind her desk, holding a bowl of ginseng soup that had gone cold, tears silently welling up in her eyes.
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, dripping into the soup bowl and spreading out in tiny ripples.
Her lips were trembling, and her fingers were shaking.
He looked like a broken porcelain statue whose soul had been taken away, his whole body cracked and on the verge of collapsing at any moment.
She didn't cry out loud.
She dared not cry out loud.
She was afraid the children would hear, afraid they would worry, afraid they would ask, "Where did Daddy go?"
Outside the study, in the courtyard, most of the ginkgo leaves had fallen, their golden foliage carpeting the bluestone slabs, gleaming dimly in the twilight.
Han Xin'er sat on the railing of the corridor, her hands supporting her on the railing, her legs dangling in mid-air, swinging gently.
She gazed at the ginkgo tree in the courtyard, at the golden leaves falling in the twilight, her eyes filled with bewilderment.
My younger sister squatted by the flowerbed, holding a blade of grass in her hand, teasing a caterpillar.
The caterpillar crawled slowly on the leaf. She gently nudged its tail with a blade of grass. The caterpillar shrank back slightly, then continued crawling forward.
"Sister, when is Father coming back?" the younger sister asked without looking up, her voice full of innocence.
Han Xin'er remained silent for a moment.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed, then parted again, then closed again.
"...It'll be soon."
She didn't look at her sister; she didn't dare to.
She was afraid that if she looked at it, tears would fall, and if she cried, her younger sister would cry too.
As dusk deepened, the last vestiges of orange-red on the horizon were being swallowed by the deep blue.
One by one, the lanterns in the mansion lit up, their orange-red glow spreading in the twilight like flowers blooming before a grave, flowers that shouldn't exist there.
A night breeze rustled through the ginkgo leaves, as if they were whispering something.
Another leaf drifted down from the branch, swirling and landing in my sister's hair.
She was oblivious and continued to tease the caterpillar.