Interrogation

Shen Qingyu didn't sleep all night.

Not because of the crude cell, but because he was repeatedly rehearsing the situation he might face today. Xiao Hanzheng had already become suspicious—from the armor straps tied backwards to the calluses on his fingers from playing the zither. This man observed too closely, so closely that Shen Qingyu felt like a butterfly pinned to a specimen board. Every leg, every antenna, was exposed under his scrutiny with nowhere to hide.

When dawn was near, he heard the horns in the military camp.

Low, long, like a giant beast waking from slumber. Then came footsteps—not scattered, but uniform. The discipline of the Great Liang army was indeed well-deserved. Shen Qingyu had heard of Xiao Hanzheng's military governance in Yingdu—orders were followed, rewards and punishments were clear, and his troops never needed a second command.

The footsteps stopped outside the cell.

Lu Changfeng lifted the barred door, holding a bowl of porridge and a dish of pickled vegetables. "Eat." His tone was as rough as last night, but Shen Qingyu noticed that he set the bowl down a bit more gently than before.

"Sent by the general?" Shen Qingyu took the bowl.

"Nonsense." Lu Changfeng glanced at him. "Eat quickly. Then see the general."

Shen Qingyu didn't ask further. He finished the porridge—this time a bit faster than last night, but still restrained. His stomach had stopped cramping, but his body was still weak. Three days without food was torture for anyone, and he needed strength for the upcoming interrogation.

Lu Changfeng handed him a clean set of clothes. "Change."

Coarse cloth short garment, the attire of ordinary soldiers. When Shen Qingyu took it, he touched Lu Changfeng's fingers. The deputy general's palms were rough as sandpaper, covered in hard calluses from years of wielding a blade.

"You are the general's deputy," Shen Qingyu said while changing, "why do you personally bring me food?"

"The general's orders," Lu Changfeng replied curtly. "He said no one is to contact you except me."

"He trusts you greatly."

Lu Changfeng didn't respond to that. He had his back to Shen Qingyu, but Shen Qingyu felt his spine stiffen slightly.

"Finished? Let's go." Lu Changfeng said.

Morning sunlight streamed into the camp. Shen Qingyu was escorted through rows of tents, his feet on the hard-beaten dirt ground. Patrolling soldiers passed by, their gazes curious or indifferent—just a prisoner, not worth much attention.

The main tent was much larger than what he had seen last night. The black tent had the character "Xiao" embroidered in silver thread, fluttering noisily in the morning breeze. Four personal guards stood in front, armor bright, waist sabers hanging diagonally, expressions blank.

Lu Changfeng lifted the tent flap and brought Shen Qingyu inside.

Xiao Hanzheng sat behind the central desk. Today he wore a dark martial robe without armor, but he had the "Water-Severing Sword" at his waist. His face was as stern as last night, betraying no emotion. But if one looked closely—Shen Qingyu habitually observed details—there was a faint hint of blue under his eyes.

He too had not slept all night.

"Sit down." Xiao Hanzheng pointed to the wooden chair opposite.

Shen Qingyu sat. Lu Changfeng stepped back but did not leave the tent. Shen Qingyu understood the arrangement—if he said something he shouldn't, Lu Changfeng would be the first to draw his blade.

"I thought all night," Xiao Hanzheng began, his tone as casual as small talk, "about your identity."

"What did the general think?"

"Three flaws." Xiao Hanzheng raised three fingers. "First, the laws of Southern Chu stipulate that members of the royal family are exempt from military service. This is an iron rule. Collateral branches are also royalty—as long as they bear the surname Shen, they don't have to go to war. So your 'being forcibly conscripted' doesn't hold."

Shen Qingyu did not refute. He waited for more.

"Second." Xiao Hanzheng raised a second finger. "Your underwear."

Shen Qingyu narrowed his eyes slightly.

"When you changed clothes last night, Lu Changfeng brought your old clothes to me," Xiao Hanzheng said. "The armor was standard soldier issue, but the underwear—it was fine silk. Embroidered with a dark pattern."

Shen Qingyu's heart sank. Who would notice the material of underwear?

"Ordinary soldiers cannot afford silk," Xiao Hanzheng said. "A fallen Shen collateral branch couldn't either—at least not worn under armor. The only explanation is that you went to battle in your own clothes, and the armor was put on temporarily."

"Third." Xiao Hanzheng raised a third finger. "Your hands. Last night I was very close, and I saw your calluses—not just one layer, but several. New calluses cover old ones every few years, traces left by years of practice. You have played the zither for at least ten years."

He put his hand down and looked at Shen Qingyu.

"A person who needs to wear silk underwear, hands that have played the zither for ten years, a surname of Shen, a person who shouldn't be on the battlefield—Shen Qingyu, your story is full of holes."

Shen Qingyu was silent for a long time.

The air in the military tent seemed to solidify. He could hear the footsteps of patrolling soldiers outside, the clang of weapons from drills in the distance, and even the sound of Xiao Hanzheng's fingers tapping on the desk—once, once, unhurried.

"Since the general has seen through everything," Shen Qingyu finally spoke, "then what is there to ask?"

"There is." Xiao Hanzheng's tone remained calm. "I want to confirm. Who are you?"

"If I tell you, will the general believe me?"

"I never repeat what I say—" Xiao Hanzheng leaned forward slightly, "—but you have only one chance to tell the truth."

Shen Qingyu looked into those dark eyes.

Twenty-two years. For twenty-two years, he had never confessed his true identity to anyone. In Yingdu, he was the Third Prince—but no one truly treated him as a prince. On the battlefield, he was a deserter—but no one knew why he fled. In the cell, he was a prisoner—but he was tired of playing that role.

Yet he still couldn't speak.

No, not couldn't—dared not. If the Third Prince of an enemy nation fell into the hands of an enemy general, the most likely outcome was not imprisonment but being sent back to the capital of Great Liang as a bargaining chip. Once there, his fate would no longer be his own.

"The general's guesses are correct," Shen Qingyu said softly, "my identity is indeed more than just a collateral branch. But the general should also understand—some words, if spoken, benefit no one."

Xiao Hanzheng raised an eyebrow slightly. "Are you negotiating with me?"

"Not negotiating," Shen Qingyu said. "It's making a judgment. The general needs as much information to decide my fate as I will give. No more, no less."

"Interesting." Xiao Hanzheng leaned back. "You're trying to control the pace of the interrogation."

"I just don't want to waste words."

"Then how much information do you think you need to give to satisfy me?"

"That depends on what the general wants," Shen Qingyu said. "A identity that can claim credit, or a value that can be traded?"

Xiao Hanzheng stared at him for a long time.

"You're betting I won't kill you," he said. "From last night till now, all your actions have been a gamble—that I won't kill a useful person."

"The general has killed many on the battlefield," Shen Qingyu said. "But those people were either enemies or burdens. I am not the former—I am unarmed. Nor am I the latter—the general has already spent so much time on me, which shows that in your eyes, I am not a burden."

Xiao Hanzheng was silent for a few breaths.

Then he did something Shen Qingyu didn't expect—he smiled. Not the fleeting curve from last night, but a real smile, tinged with some appreciation.

"You are very clever, Shen Qingyu. Too clever." He stood up, walked to a side table, and poured a cup of water. "You remind me of someone." He placed the cup in front of Shen Qingyu—not handing it to Lu Changfeng to pass on, but personally. "But that person is already dead."

Shen Qingyu picked up the cup but didn't drink.

"The general's friend?"

Xiao Hanzheng didn't answer. He turned back to the desk and sat down again. That question was like a stone thrown into a deep well, making no sound.

"Last night I reviewed a genealogy of the Southern Chu royal family," Xiao Hanzheng said, his tone returning to calm. "The royal family of Southern Chu has the surname Shen. The eldest prince, Shen Mingzhang; the second prince, Shen Mingyu; the third prince, Shen Qingyu. The first two were born of the empress, the third—mother unknown."

Shen Qingyu's hand holding the cup tightened slightly.

"The genealogy's record of the third prince is simple," Xiao Hanzheng continued. "Mother deceased, no title conferred, no residence established. But before Southern Chu's defeat, news came from Yingdu that the third prince, Shen Qingyu, had been selected as a hostage to be sent to Great Liang."

He paused.

"As one of the conditions for peace negotiations."

Shen Qingyu's breathing became shallow. He didn't move or try to argue. Because he knew Xiao Hanzheng wasn't guessing—he was listing evidence one by one. The armor strap, the silk underwear, the zither-playing hands, the calm silence, the name on the genealogy. All these clues pointed to the same answer.

"The third prince of Southern Chu is also named Shen Qingyu," Xiao Hanzheng said. "He shares the same name as you."

"There are many with the same name in the world."

"Was that the same thought you used to comfort yourself when you played dead among the corpses for three days?"

Shen Qingyu fell silent.

Xiao Hanzheng stood up and walked in front of Shen Qingyu. He was much taller, his downward gaze forcing Shen Qingyu to look up.

"I could hand you over to the Ministry of Rites," Xiao Hanzheng said calmly. "They will verify your identity and decide how to deal with you. There are not many ways to handle an enemy prince—either send you back to Southern Chu for ransom, or take you to the capital for the emperor's judgment, or—" he paused, "—deal with you on the spot."

"But you could also kill me yourself," Shen Qingyu said softly. "If the general doesn't want the trouble."

Xiao Hanzheng narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You're testing me."

"The general is also testing me," Shen Qingyu said, looking up into Xiao Hanzheng's eyes. "From last night till now, the general has said enough, but not a single truth. You didn't need to tell me so much—unless you wanted to see something from my reactions."

Their gazes clashed in the dim light.

"So I've decided not to show you the genealogy," Xiao Hanzheng suddenly said. "Nor will I hand you over to the Ministry of Rites."

Shen Qingyu was slightly taken aback.

"You will stay here," Xiao Hanzheng said. "Until I ascertain your identity myself."

He turned and walked towards the tent entrance. At the door, he paused.

"Shen Qingyu—"

"Yes?"

"You are too calm. This calmness is not something ordinary people possess. Only two kinds of people have it—the dead, and those who have seen too much life and death." He turned and glanced at Shen Qingyu. "How much life and death have you seen?"

Shen Qingyu didn't answer. He lowered his head and looked at his hands on his knees. The calluses from playing the zither seemed to speak silently in the dim light.

Xiao Hanzheng didn't wait. He lifted the tent flap and walked out.

Lu Changfeng came over and escorted Shen Qingyu out. At the entrance, Shen Qingyu turned back and looked at the empty desk. There was indeed a roll of bamboo slips spread on it—the genealogy of Southern Chu's royal family. Xiao Hanzheng had read it all night.

***

Shen Qingyu was brought back to the cell.

This time, Lu Changfeng didn't just lock him in. The deputy general stood outside the bars, looking at him for a long time. That gaze wasn't like an interrogation, more like an evaluation—like assessing an enemy's combat strength on the battlefield.

"Who exactly are you?" Lu Changfeng finally spoke. "The general asked me to check the Southern Chu royal genealogy. The name Shen Qingyu is on it."

Shen Qingyu leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Your general has already guessed," he said. "No need to ask further."

"I just want to confirm one thing," Lu Changfeng said. "Will you harm the general?"

Shen Qingyu opened his eyes and looked at Lu Changfeng. The deputy general's gaze was direct, without any twists or turns. This man wasn't here to probe—he was here to warn.

"I am unarmed," Shen Qingyu said. "How could I harm him?""Even unarmed, one can kill." Lu Changfeng said, "Just use your tongue. I've seen too many such people on the battlefield—seemingly harmless, but their words are sharper than knives."

Shen Qingyu was silent for a moment.

"You are a good lieutenant," he said.

Lu Changfeng was taken aback.

"That's not flattery," Shen Qingyu said. "The object of your loyalty is the general himself, not the rank of general. Such a person would die quickly in the court—but in the army camp, he is reliable." He paused. "Rest assured. I do not kill those who are kind to me."

Lu Changfeng stared at him for a few breaths, then without another word, turned and left.

Shen Qingyu sat alone in the cell until late into the night.

Xiao Hanzheng had said something earlier—"You remind me of someone, but that person is dead." He did not know that person's name, but from Xiao Hanzheng's tone, he could hear a deliberately suppressed extension of old wounds.

He was losing something too.

Shen Qingyu pondered this question until he gradually fell asleep on the straw.

The next morning, he was awakened by a sound—

Not a horn, not footsteps.

It was the sound of a zither.

Coming from somewhere in the camp, intermittent, as if testing the notes. Shen Qingyu sat up and listened intently.

The zither was out of tune. But more importantly—there was actually a zither in this camp.

He suddenly had a sense of foreboding.