LBLCPCB C11

Chapter 11

The Xu brothers did not dare linger. With bows, they withdrew.

Once they had gone far enough, Zhu Song ordered the jailors to move the two condemned criminals out from Lin Feng’s cellblock. Only then did he step inside and speak to Lin Feng:

“Why does he want you dead?

Even now, you refuse to tell the truth? By protecting him so stubbornly, do you believe he feels true gratitude to you?

Think carefully. Did he save you out of pure kindness? Did he raise you as a son?”

His voice sharpened. “What matters more—clearing your family’s blood grievance, or shielding one who seeks your death? By tomorrow morning, I expect an answer.”

With that, he left the cell.

At the door he encountered Gu Huaiyu hurrying up.

“You’re unharmed?” Gu asked.

“Fine. A mere minnow—not worth my notice.”

“And Lin Feng—what did he say?”

Zhu sighed. “Nothing. It seems like a sickness of the mind. He’s developed a peculiar attachment to his persecutor. That attachment makes him protect the man.”

“How can you know he persecuted him?” Gu pressed.

As they walked side by side, Zhu explained: “When I clapped Lin Feng on the shoulder today, he flinched like one long used to blows.”

Gu frowned deeply, turning to look at Zhu in the dark. “But… the people of the capital always regard male love as shameful…”¹

“Which is why it must be so carefully hidden,” Zhu replied before realizing his own words. He had never considered that possibility—but thinking now, why else keep a man sequestered alone in a private villa? He clicked his tongue. “To think such things are in play…”

Gu noted the disgust darkening Zhu’s expression. He lowered his gaze. When he looked up again, his eyes were fixed straight ahead, his tone back to bureaucratic formality.

“A high official—killing to protect his reputation.”

Zhu countered immediately: “That was bluff, Huaiyu—you know it. It’s illegal for anyone to keep death‑soldiers. I only said it to test him.”

But from Lin Feng’s reactions, it was clear: the master of Zhuqing Courtyard truly held high rank.

Daybreak came. Zhu returned to the prison. Moments later, so did Gu. They traded a glance; both bore black circles under their eyes.

At Lin Feng’s cell, they sat side by side.

Zhu asked: “Well? A whole night has passed. Have you decided?”

Lin Feng knelt, pale as death. “I… I have. I will tell you everything.”

Zhu helped him upright. “Then sit, and speak clearly.”

And so Lin began.

“Back then, when he first carried me into his carriage, I dared not look around. Only his robes I saw—purple—as well as the long white fingers resting on his knee. Upon his finger was a black‑jade archer’s ring²—exquisite. The air brimmed faint fragrance I had never smelled before, delicate and rare.

I crouched in the corner, out of place. Then came a soft laugh, and his gentle voice:

‘Like it?’

I dared not look up, nor fail to answer, so I nodded hurriedly: ‘Yes.’

He even his voice was beautiful, languid, almost lazy. Compared to him, I was a mute fool. In that moment I nearly wished myself dumb, so as not to shame myself.

But he seemed unoffended. To my astonishment, he slipped the ring from his finger and handed it to me.

‘If you like it, it’s yours.’

Too stunned, I raised my head despite myself—and saw his face hidden by a golden mask. Only his moist lips were visible. Yet I knew then he must be very handsome. I was entranced.

Where he took me, I knew not—it was near enough that soon we arrived. He led me in gently, sensing my unease.

Two years later, I would learn it was called Zhuqing Courtyard.

He never once removed the mask. I never knew his real name.”

Here Gu interrupted softly: “How did you address each other then?”

At once Lin colored, lowering his head in embarrassment. His voice shrank—but the cell was too silent; both men heard him clearly.

“He told me to call him **‘husband’ (xiāng gōng)**³… and he called me ‘wife.’”

The words landed heavy. Zhu’s brows snapped together in a hard frown. Gu glanced his way—then quickly turned aside again, focusing back on Lin.

“Continue.”

Lin gathered himself. “He liked… to use certain ‘stimulating toys.’ My body had been weak since childhood. After each visit, I always fell ill. But he mostly came only once a month, sometimes only twice a year. Manageable.

But last year, he came incessantly—half a month straight. I grew fevered, coughing blood.

Several doctors despaired I would not survive the winter. I spat out blood and collapsed into coma.

And in dreams, all my forgotten memories returned.

I was back at the fire. Not under the bed—this time I stood, watching Mother fall in blood, screaming I should run. I tried to rush to her, but her hopeless eyes froze me in place. I turned instead—and fell into an unending abyss. Then I awoke.

The fever gone—but vengeance now etched upon my heart.

How could I, a man kept in captivity thirteen years, possibly avenge them?

At last I steeled myself. I would beg him for help. I had never asked a thing before, and he doted on me—I was sure he would help.

But that period, he vanished. Two months he failed to appear. At last, on the day of the Beginning of Spring Festival, he returned.

I told him everything, begged aid.

His response…”

Here Lin choked, face collapsing, tears spilling too freely to continue. Zhu and Gu both watched him, taut with patience. At last Zhu muttered sharply:

“What did he do?”

But Lin could only weep, broken. Zhu shot a glare at Gu, urging him to comfort the boy. Yet Gu’s gaze was heavy with sympathy, his eyes damp, too enthralled with Lin’s sorrow.

Zhu sighed, crouched low, and pressed gently: “Hey. Say it.”

Lin lifted red eyes, sorrow vast within them. Finally the words emerged.

“He said lightly, ‘So there was such a thing?’

Then he rose, fetched a sword from his retainer.

I followed barefoot, shivering in icy courtyard snow. He unsheathed the blade, sharpening it calmly. I thought he raged on my behalf. My heart dared hope.

But then he turned—and drove the sword straight through my chest.

I looked up at him in naked disbelief. ‘Why?’

He only ripped the sword free, saying coldly, ‘What a pity.’

I don’t know what he pitied. I don’t know why killing me was his answer.

Darkness took me.

Yet when I woke, I was alive—in a small wooden hut. Saved by a man in an apricot‑blossom mask⁴.

At first, I thought him another of my master’s tricks.

But this man said little, only once: ‘Lucky for you—it was I you met. Otherwise you’d be long dead.’

I asked who had sent him. He only scoffed. That contempt convinced me—it must indeed be him behind it all. For what purpose, I knew not. But I believed.

And because I believed, I entrusted him with my truth. I told him of my family.

He listened in silence. Then left the cabin.

Half a day later, he returned. He said:

‘I will help you.’

I was not surprised. Of course he would.

But he added: ‘This case is old, hard to prove. If you go openly, the Prefecture would not even hear you. First: cause a storm. They cannot ignore you.’

So he instructed me. Pretend to be Qingxing, create bizarre events, spread panic, ensure all eyes watched. Then be caught, and in trial reveal my family’s slaughter.

Everything progressed as he had said. Too smoothly.

Until last night. The assassin. Then I realized at last—I had been wrong.

The apricot mask was not his man… it was someone else.”

Here Lin drew from his chest the shattered heart‑guard mirror, glistening with tears.

“I truly… truly never believed… that he sought to kill me.”

Watching Lin’s broken sobbing, Zhu’s brows knit hard. But his voice stayed cool:

“I’ll send the artist. He will sketch the faces of these two men you describe.”

Zhu turned, striding from the cell, the sound of Lin’s cries still echoing. He thought perhaps the prisoner called back once—but he did not listen.

Footnotes for Readers

1. “Men of the capital consider male love a shame” (京中人向來以男風為恥) — reflects conservative attitudes in many dynastic eras: nan feng (男風, “male trend”) was a euphemism for homosexuality, often tolerated in private yet rebuked in public.

2. Archer’s ring (扳指) — jade ring worn on the thumb to draw bowstrings; later became ornament and status symbol.

3. “Xiāng gōng / 娘子” — traditional husband/wife terms. In normal marriages: the husband calls himself xiānggōng, calls the wife niángzi. Here inverted, highlighting their warped, illicit relationship.

4. Apricot‑blossom mask (杏花面具) — unique identifier; masks with distinctive patterns often serve as secret identities in wuxia‑style fiction.