Though the Old Marquis harbored many grievances against Luo Jingfeng, he suppressed his anger, relieved that at least his son could finally return home.
The escort back to the capital was heavily guarded—primarily to prevent Zong Yan from resisting. Yet, once locked in the prison cart, he grew eerily still, neither moving nor speaking to anyone.
The Old Marquis, a man of deep emotions, couldn’t help shedding tears at the sight of his son’s condition. But Zong Yan’s expression remained blank, as if he didn’t recognize his own father.
Despite Luo Jingfeng’s assurance that Zong Yan hadn’t lost his memories, the Old Marquis remained uncertain. Throughout the journey, he relentlessly recounted stories from Zong Yan’s childhood, hoping to spark recognition.
By late January, the air was dry and bitingly cold.
The entire household, except for Xu Wan—who was nearing childbirth—gathered at the gate, eagerly awaiting Zong Yan’s return.
The carriage had to enter through the side gate. To spare Zong Yan the humiliation of being seen in a prison cart, the Old Marquis ordered it driven straight into the courtyard.
When the carriage curtain was lifted, the Old Marchioness’s eyes welled with tears. She cried out his name, voice trembling: "Yan'er!"
Zong Yan didn’t look up.
He was waiting.
As the prison cart door opened, the Old Marquis reached out to help him, but Zong Yan seized the chance to shove him aside and bolted toward the exit.
"Zong Yan!" the Old Marquis shouted in alarm.
Zong Zhao swiftly intercepted, yanking Zong Yan’s arm back. The two struggled, quickly escalating into a full-blown fight in the courtyard.
Yan Suxue and Zong Wenxiu, mother and son, had been nervously anticipating Zong Yan’s reaction to them. But to their shock, he ignored everyone, single-mindedly focused on escape.
They flanked the Old Marchioness, holding her back to prevent her from rushing into the fray.
"Zhao’er, be careful! Don’t hurt him!" the Old Marchioness pleaded frantically.
At sixteen, Zong Yan had been no match for Zong Zhao.
At twenty-eight, he still wasn’t.
But Zong Zhao held back, aiming only to subdue him, while Zong Yan fought with vicious desperation. Finally, Zong Zhao lost patience, twisting his brother’s arm and snapping, "Zong Yan, calm down! You’re home now. You’re safe."
Zong Yan ignored him, wrenching free like a coiled serpent, still searching for an opening to flee. His fighting style had grown more agile; without resorting to force, this could drag on indefinitely.
Seizing an opportunity, Zong Zhao knocked him unconscious and ordered, "Fetch chains. Lock him in his room."
"Yes, Great General."
Yan Suxue, once a concubine, had never been allowed to occupy Zong Yan’s quarters. Even after being elevated to the main wife, she refrained from moving in, not wanting to disturb the Old Marchioness, who often visited to reminisce. Thus, Zong Yan’s room remained untouched for twelve years, still adorned in the vibrant colors he’d loved.
The servants brought thick, unyielding chains. Zong Zhao secured one around Zong Yan’s ankle, fastened to the bed, leaving just enough length for limited movement.
The Old Marchioness knelt beside the bed, her heart breaking. She reached out as if to touch his face but hesitated. "Zhao’er, is it really him? He looks exactly like my Yan’er. It’s him, isn’t it?"
Zong Zhao didn’t answer. Instead, he checked Zong Yan’s pulse, searching for signs of illness.
But as he did, Zong Yan’s wrist was exposed—revealing multiple thin, pale scars.
The Old Marquis gasped. "What is this? Did someone try to sever his tendons?"
"Unlikely. His martial arts are intact," Zong Zhao muttered, flipping Zong Yan’s other wrist. More scars.
The Old Marquis joined the inspection, while the others watched in horrified silence. Soon, he confirmed, "No scars on his ankles."
Zong Zhao hesitated, then pulled open Zong Yan’s robe. His chest bore countless identical marks—small, precise, covering his skin like a grotesque tapestry.
The room fell deathly quiet.
The Old Marchioness’s voice shook. "What… what are these? How could he have so many wounds?!"
Her breathing grew ragged, her legs unsteady.
Zong Zhao frowned. "Father, take everyone back to their rooms. Zong Yan is physically unharmed. There’s no need for so many people here. I’ll update you if anything changes."
Seeing the Old Marchioness on the verge of collapse, the Old Marquis quickly agreed. "Yes, yes. Everyone, disperse. Too many people might agitate him further."
He guided the Old Marchioness out, then turned to Zong Wenxiu. "Keep your mother away for now. We don’t want her getting hurt."
Zong Wenxiu nodded obediently. "Don’t worry, Grandfather. We won’t cause trouble."
"Good boy."
Once alone, Zong Zhao continued examining Zong Yan’s body.
As expected, the scars covered him entirely—some old, some fresh.
Each wound was small, the kind that should’ve healed cleanly with proper care. Yet, it seemed Zong Yan had never received treatment.
Zong Zhao’s hands trembled as he redressed his brother. His mind flashed to the vain, lively sixteen-year-old who’d once boasted about his physique and obsessed over his wardrobe.
He had cared so much about his appearance.
Finding no irregularities in Zong Yan’s pulse, Zong Zhao summoned the imperial physician. While waiting, he sat vigil by the bed, gaze never leaving his brother.
The boy who’d once smiled so easily now wore a permanent coldness, even in sleep.
"Zong Yan…"
The imperial physician arrived under royal orders. After a quick bow, he examined Zong Yan.
"Great General, the Second Young Master’s pulse is normal. His health is sound."
This aligned with Zong Zhao’s assessment—but offered no comfort.
"Can you determine if his memory is damaged?"
The physician hesitated. "Memory loss typically stems from severe trauma or head injuries. I found no scars, but if the injury was old, they may have faded."
Zong Zhao stared at the chained figure. "What do we do with him?"
The physician faltered. "Perhaps… give him time? Familiar surroundings and family might ease his defenses."
Zong Zhao nodded stiffly. "Thank you for your time."
"Of course, Great General."
After the physician left, Zong Zhao returned to his quarters and recounted the events to Xu Wan.
She had been waiting anxiously. "If he served as Crown Prince Jin'an’s strategist for years, he was likely controlled. Maybe investigate his time in You Country more thoroughly—his movements, daily life, anything unusual."
