Yongchao, the 33rd year of the Changping Era.
The Secondary Capital.
The sky prison, built underground, was bottomless and lightless. Even if one had wings, escape was impossible.
The twenty-seven-year-old Lu Huaihai was imprisoned here, awaiting his fate.
The straw spread on the prison floor had grown moldy. Combined with the pungent smell of blood, it could barely be considered the “local specialty” of this place.
Lu Huaihai didn’t know how long he had been locked up.
After losing his sense of light, it was difficult to grasp the passage of time.
The heavy and decayed prison door creaked open, and several footsteps pierced the silence, drawing closer to him step by step. The visitors carried torches, their orange-yellow light growing brighter as they approached, causing Lu Huaihai’s pupils—unused to the light—to contract slightly.
Yet, he neither flinched nor avoided it, his eyes fixed in the direction of the approaching figures until an old acquaintance stopped in front of him.
“Lord Lu, it has been a while.”
The speaker was Ding Yan, the commander of Zhejiang and Fujian forces and the Earl of Wuchang.
The words “it has been a while” in such a confined and grimy cell were nothing short of absurd.
Lu Huaihai’s expression remained calm; he wasn’t surprised that Ding Yan had come. “Pardon me for being bound in chains and unable to welcome you from afar.”
Facing imminent death, this man still had the mind to retort? Stroking his long beard, Ding Yan burst into laughter. “Lord Lu, I am quite curious—up to this day, do you regret leading the charge in submitting the memorial to open the maritime trade ban?”
The ancestral edict of the founding emperor had decreed that not a single plank of wood was to set sail beyond the sea.
This law served two purposes: centralization of power and defense against Japanese pirates. For Lu Huaihai, a commander entrusted with anti-piracy forces, to dare submit a memorial proposing the breaking of this ancestral law and lifting the trade ban—how could it not infuriate the emperor and throw the court into turmoil?
Lu Huaihai responded calmly, “External enemies can be slain, but internal traitors are harder to root out. As long as the maritime ban remains in place, the common people have no way to survive, and the Japanese pirates will never cease to exist. There is no one more suited than me to expose this issue.”
His words were sincere, and the reasoning within them was something a smart man like Ding Yan naturally understood.
In the southeastern coastal regions, Japanese pirates had rampaged unhindered, even reaching the secondary capital at one point. Without Lu Huaihai, an unparalleled genius, the situation would have deteriorated beyond salvation long ago.
But why had the Japanese pirates persisted?
Was it because they were invincible, with unparalleled strength? Of course not.
In the southeastern coast, where the population was dense but the land scarce, trade was the livelihood for many. After the strict prohibition of foreign trade, the seas were blockaded. When the common people had no food to eat, they were forced to follow the pirates and rob others, simply to feed their families and avoid being plundered by the pirates themselves.
In such circumstances, the pirate problem would naturally never end.
However, Ding Yan keenly caught the unfinished meaning in Lu Huaihai’s words. “Lord Lu, you are evading my question.”
“Yes, I regret it,” Lu Huaihai admitted without hesitation, his gaze as clear as his character. “Though I have no wife or children, I have parents, brothers, and clan members. Involving them was never my intention.”
This was precisely the purpose of Ding Yan’s visit. Suddenly, his tone shifted. “The day your memorial was read, His Majesty was so enraged that he adjourned court for three days. In his fury, he initially intended to execute your entire clan. However, as fate would have it, while passing by the Thousand Carp Pond, His Majesty overheard some palace maids discussing stories about widows.”
Lu Huaihai’s brow furrowed slightly.
The Lu family had once been mocked as the “household of widows.” Lu Huaihai’s grandfather, two uncles, and several male relatives from collateral branches had all died in battle in Yansui, leaving behind a courtyard full of widows. If not meritorious, their sacrifices had at least been arduous.
Ding Yan continued, “The husbands of those widows all gave their lives for the country. His Majesty could not bear to implicate them. Thus, he decreed that only you shall be executed.”
Lu Huaihai said, “Thank you.”
Not implicating the Lu family was already the best outcome.
Over the years, in order to recruit soldiers and wage war, Lu Huaihai had chosen sides and offended people. Now that he had lost favor, it was unsurprising that everyone was kicking him while he was down.
Seeing how calm Lu Huaihai was—almost as if hearing about someone else’s death—Ding Yan couldn’t help but say, “Your family may be fine, but if you’re merely executed with a clean decapitation, where would the imperial dignity be? To say something bold, His Majesty’s anger would have no outlet.”
Lu Huaihai’s expression didn’t change. “Lingchi1 or dismemberment by chariot?”
Ding Yan shook his head. “The Emperor has ordered that your martial arts be crippled, your clavicles pierced, and then you will be transported by land from the Secondary Capital to the main capital to await execution.”
The two capitals were thousands of li2 apart, and even a fast horse would take over a month to cover the distance. For a prisoner’s carriage transporting a condemned man back to the capital, the journey would likely take no less than two months.
His Majesty showed remarkable ingenuity when it came to tormenting people.
Lu Huaihai chuckled softly and asked, “When is the punishment scheduled?”
Ding Yan replied, “At noon today.”
With that, the two men had nothing left to say.
—
At noon, the scorching sun hung high overhead.
The imperial envoy sent from the main capital to oversee the punishment had arrived at the execution ground, accompanied by a craftsman skilled in “playing the pipa.”3
Everyone knew that Lu Huaihai’s mastery of the blade with his left hand was unparalleled, so the envoy thoughtfully reminded the craftsman not to make any mistakes—it was the left clavicle that needed to be pierced.
The iron spike sank into flesh and muscle, and with a heavy hammer blow, the sound of the spike striking bone produced a deafening hum.
The remaining hot blood gushed out, carrying away the last of the warmth in Lu Huaihai’s body.
Pain. Excruciating, piercing pain.
If fingers are connected to the heart, how much more so when an iron spike is driven through the chest cavity?
Overwhelmed by the agony, Lu Huaihai shut his eyes tightly but did not make a sound, leading the imperial envoy to believe he had fainted. The envoy stepped forward to examine his condition.
The Emperor’s decree was clear—Lu Huaihai could not die yet; he had to be alive when he reached the main capital.
As if sensing something, Lu Huaihai suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze was like the flash of a drawn sword, shooting straight ahead.
Though the envoy stood several zhang4 away, fearing being splattered by blood, that piercing gaze still forced him to take a few steps back.
The envoy coughed twice to mask his unease and whispered to his attendants, “Bring all the hemostatic medicine. Don’t let him die.”
—
Inside and outside Jinchuan Gate, a heavy silence hung in the air.
It wasn’t that there was no one present—on the contrary, the onlookers were numerous. But even the youngest children dared not make a sound.
In the crowd, a child seemed to whisper to their parents, “I think I’ve seen this older brother before. He saved us last time and helped us drive away the bad guys…”
Before the child could finish speaking, their family quickly covered their mouth.
The prison cart, surrounded tightly by armed soldiers, slowly passed through the city gate.
Lu Huaihai had made a name for himself at a young age, famed for his ability to take on a hundred men alone. Even with his clavicles pierced, they still worried he might sprout wings and escape, necessitating such a heavy guard.
In reality, his wounds were festering, the pain of his shattered bones remained unbearable, and the punishment was akin to a prolonged lingchi. Lu Huaihai no longer even had the strength to lift his hand.
So many armed soldiers, all just to guard a man who couldn’t even lift a blade—how could that not be laughable?
Not long after leaving the Secondary Capital, Lu Huaihai, his wounds exposed to the wind, developed a high fever. Within days, he grew terrifyingly emaciated, his mountainous physique collapsing rapidly.
Even the soldiers guarding him could hardly bear to look at him directly.
Yet Lu Huaihai’s mind remained sharp.
—If he were the kind of man to faint from injuries, he would’ve died on the battlefield long ago.
Lu Huaihai stayed fully conscious, carefully watching the towns they passed. He mentally compared them against the Yongchao’s maps, calculating how much longer he needed to stay alive.
The Emperor’s intention was obvious: he wanted to vent his anger. If Lu Huaihai were to die quickly, the Emperor would turn his wrath onto the rest of the Lu family.
That was why Ding Yan had been sent to inform him.
And so, he couldn’t afford to die too soon.
Years of navigating blades and shadows had left him with a keen sense of danger. As he calculated his survival, Lu Huaihai acutely felt that something—or someone—was watching him.
From the moment he passed through Jinchuan Gate, it was as though a silent gaze had been fixed on him.
After years of battle, Lu Huaihai had come to trust his instincts implicitly.
They were his most reliable companion, having saved him from the brink of death countless times.
But no matter how carefully he observed, he couldn’t locate the source of the gaze. His brows furrowed in frustration.
His intuition wasn’t baseless.
—
Xie Miao’er was fully aware that she was dreaming.
She was seeing everything that Lu Huaihai was experiencing with perfect clarity.
What loyal ministers, exemplary generals, and heroes of noble families—when their lives came to an end, all that remained of them in the annals of history were a scant few lines.
The Lu Huaihai recorded in historical texts was little more than a symbol: a representation of selfless sacrifice, a paragon of courage.
Xie Miao’er had to admit that, of all the generals throughout history, she was especially drawn to the chapters written by Lu Huaihai’s life. The tragic end he met played no small part in her fascination.
Regrettable stories always left the deepest impressions.
Knowing that Lu Huaihai would meet an unjust end made her heart ache. She wished she could dive into the book and personally deal with those who had conspired against him. She had even, in her more rebellious moments, entertained the treasonous thought of overthrowing the Emperor who couldn’t tell loyal subjects from traitors.
But the horrific sight before her was something Xie Miao’er—born and raised in the sheltered confines of a boudoir—had never envisioned when she caught glimpses of Lu Huaihai’s life through the pages of history.
It was the first time she had seen so much blood. She couldn’t even imagine how much pain he must have been in.
Suddenly, Xie Miao’er felt that her previous “admiration” was cruel.
The figure before her, trapped in a prison cart and wasting away with broken bones as he waited for death, was no longer a symbol. He was a real person.
A man who had spent his life on the battlefield, only to meet such an end.
Lu Huaihai…
The distress Xie Miao’er felt was so overwhelming that she was on the verge of tears. She completely forgot that she was inside a dream. Desperately, she tried with all her strength to use her own body to shield Lu Huaihai from the scorching sunlight.
It was the period of Chushu5, the end of summer. The heat was oppressive. Even the soldiers found their swords too hot to touch, having to wrap them in cloth before carrying them.
Inside the prison cart, Lu Huaihai’s mouth was dry, and his throat parched. The black iron rod that pierced through his chest cavity had been heated by the relentless sun.
In a daze, a faint breeze suddenly swept past. Instinctively, Lu Huaihai raised his chin.
The sky was a clear, transparent blue, and a lone cloud slowly drifted above his head.
Perhaps that cloud truly shielded him from a portion of the oppressive heat. Letting out a sigh of relief, Lu Huaihai leaned against the wooden bars of the cart and managed to nap for a while.
It seemed that the heavens had decided to spare him from further torment. Not a single drop of rain had fallen during the journey—every day was fair weather for travel.
As they drew ever closer to the capital, Lu Huaihai lifted his head once more. He saw that same lone cloud.
When he was a boy, he had once wanted to learn martial arts, but his father had adamantly refused and punished him by making him kneel before the ancestral shrine. Stubborn and defiant, Lu Huaihai had refused to lower his head. His gaze, raised and unyielding, had met the compassionate eyes of the deity’s statue.
The feeling of being watched by the divine back then was strikingly similar to what he was experiencing now.
Narrowing his eyes, Lu Huaihai carefully memorized the shape of the cloud.
As the journey continued, he confirmed that the cloud had indeed been following him the entire time.
Lu Huaihai didn’t believe in superstition or the supernatural, but he trusted his own judgment. Waiting for death was both painful and monotonous, so he leaned against the wooden bars, tilted his head, and studied the cloud.
This was his final amusement.
—
The towering city walls loomed ahead, the noise of the bustling capital growing louder as they approached.
The capital was close now, and the soldiers and accompanying physicians were relieved.
Lu Huaihai hadn’t died—they wouldn’t be punished.
Lu Huaihai was relieved too.
Because when he lifted his head, he saw that the cloud was still there.
He finally closed his eyes.
—
In that instant, the capital, which had seen no rain for over a month, was met with a torrential downpour.
The cascading rain blurred heaven and earth into a chaotic expanse. The sound of the rain was a cacophony, and a faint glimmer of light quietly pierced through the shadows of a hundred years.
—
The dream ended.
Xie Miao’er woke up, her body soaked in cold sweat.
When she opened her eyes, dawn had not yet broken. She lay alone in her bed; the pallet beside her was empty.
—
Footnotes:
- Lingchi(凌迟): Also known as “death by a thousand cuts,” an ancient form of torture and execution in which the condemned was slowly and repeatedly sliced over an extended period of time. It symbolizes extreme punishment.
- Li(里) is a traditional Chinese unit of length. Historically, it has varied over time and across regions, but it is standardized in modern China as 500 meters
- “Playing the pipa”(弹琵琶): A metaphorical term for the cruel practice of piercing a person’s clavicle with iron spikes. The clavicle is often referred to as the “pipa bone” because of its resemblance to the shape of the string instrument, the pipa.
- Zhang(丈): A traditional Chinese unit of length, approximately 3.3 meters (around 10 feet).
- Chushu(处暑), literally translated as “End of Heat,” is one of the 24 solar terms in the traditional Chinese lunisolar calendar. It typically falls around August 23–24 in the Gregorian calendar.