Zong Zhao replied, "Alright, I'll order further investigations. I also feel it's not that simple, otherwise Zong Yan wouldn't always be trying to escape."
Xu Wan looked up and asked, "Are you certain he hasn't lost his memory?"
Zong Zhao shook his head. "Not entirely. When he sees us, it's like we're strangers—no surprise, no other emotions."
Though Luo Jingfeng insisted he couldn’t have lost his memory, or else he wouldn’t have repeatedly let the Old Marquis go, Zong Zhao suspected it might simply be Zong Yan’s inherent kindness, unwilling to harm the innocent.
Night fell, and the entire General’s Manor sank into silence.
"Ah—!" A blood-curdling scream jolted everyone awake.
Zong Zhao opened his eyes and immediately turned to his wife, who had also been startled awake. "Are you alright?" he asked urgently.
Pregnant women must avoid fright—sudden awakenings could disturb the fetus, endangering both mother and child.
Xu Wan had indeed been startled, but it was just a quickened heartbeat. She reassured him, "I’m fine, I’m fine. It sounded like Zong Yan. Go check on him."
"I’ll go right away." Zong Zhao dressed swiftly and rushed out.
The lamps in the room were all lit.
Cui Zhi and Cui Liu hurried in to keep Xu Wan company.
Zong Yan’s courtyard was nearby, and by the time Zong Zhao arrived, the Old Marquis had just gotten there as well.
"Yan'er!"
Father and son charged inside to find Zong Yan writhing in agony. The servants assigned to care for him had been kicked aside, too afraid to approach.
Before them, Zong Yan was slamming his body against the bed, his entire being consumed by frenzy.
"Zong Yan!"
Zong Zhao rushed forward, only to see him not just beating himself but also screaming, "Give me a knife! Give me a knife!"
Zong Zhao’s eyes widened as if he had realized something.
The Old Marquis cried out in distress, "Yan'er, Yan'er, calm down! What do you need a knife for?"
Zong Yan roared at him in madness, "Give me a knife!"
The Old Marquis refused, shaking his head. "No, I can’t! You’ll hurt yourself, Yan'er..."
As the Old Marquis stepped forward, about to enter the range of the chains, Zong Yan snarled viciously, "Get away! Don’t come near me!"
A thousand miles away, in the military camp of You Country...
Crown Prince Jin'an played a flute, the dark pipe emitting a unique vibrational frequency, as if summoning:
"Yan, come back."
"Return to us."
"We’re all waiting for you."
Back at the General’s Manor...
"Ah—!" Zong Yan smashed his arm against the bed frame again. Zong Zhao grabbed his wrist.
After a brief moment of calm, Zong Yan began slamming his legs instead. His strength was immense—even the bed frame splintered under the force.
The Old Marquis, blinded by concern, pleaded frantically, "Zhao'er, what’s wrong with him? Should I just bring him a knife?"
Zong Zhao’s expression darkened. "Father, what are you saying? Don’t you see? He wants the knife to hurt himself!"
"What?!" The Old Marquis felt as if the sky had collapsed.
No wonder… no wonder Yan'er had so many small wounds on his body. He had assumed someone was harming him—but it turned out he was doing it to himself!
Zong Yan continued thrashing violently. "Let me go! Let me go!"
If he just returned, if he just obeyed…
The pain would stop.
He wouldn’t have to endure this torment—worse than death, yet unable to die.
Zong Zhao knocked him unconscious again.
Zong Yan looked utterly tortured, yet the imperial physicians could find nothing wrong with him, let alone treat it.
The Old Marquis exhaled shakily. "What do we do? How did Yan'er end up like this?"
Zong Zhao asked, "Was he like this on the journey back?"
The Old Marquis shook his head. "No, he was perfectly calm the whole way—didn’t even try to escape. How… how could he become like this as soon as we got home?"
Zong Zhao pondered. "The problem lies with Crown Prince Jin'an of You Country. I’ve already sent people to investigate Zong Yan’s experiences there."
"But what about Yan'er’s suffering now? Is his pulse still abnormal?" the Old Marquis pressed.
Earlier, his erratic emotions had caused an unstable pulse, but now, upon re-examination, it had returned to normal.
The strangeness of it baffled Zong Zhao.
Then he thought of Feng Qinglai.
That eccentric old poison master, capable of creating such potent toxins—perhaps he could discern what was happening to Zong Yan?
With that in mind, he said to the Old Marquis, "I have a friend, a master of unconventional medicine. I’ll write to him, explain the situation, and see if he can come examine Zong Yan."
The Old Marquis grasped at the hope. "Yes, yes, go quickly. I’ll stay and watch over Yan'er."
Zong Zhao returned to his quarters and began composing the letter.
Xu Wan didn’t disturb him. Only after he sent it did she ask, "What’s wrong with Zong Yan?"
Zong Zhao summarized, "He may have an unknown toxin in his system. I’ve written to a skilled poison master for help. You should rest—I’ll go keep watch in Zong Yan’s room."
Xu Wan nodded obediently. "Go ahead. Don’t worry about us—the baby and I are fine."
Zong Zhao kissed her forehead. "Sleep early."
"Mm. You too."
He went to Zong Yan’s courtyard and urged the Old Marquis to rest, also reassuring the waiting Old Marchioness.
With Zong Zhao personally standing guard, the Old Marquis felt somewhat relieved. "You watch over him tonight. I’ll take over tomorrow—we’ll take turns."
"Agreed."
After the Old Marquis left, Zong Zhao paused in thought, then moved the chains from Zong Yan’s feet to the bedpost and lay down beside his brother.
When they were children, Zong Yan had always clung to him.
More than he did to their parents.
Whether it was training together or playing, Zong Yan had stuck to him until the age of seven or eight, when he reluctantly agreed to sleep separately—though he still occasionally crawled into Zong Zhao’s bed, chattering endlessly.
The days he had once found slightly annoying became cherished memories after Zong Yan’s disappearance. And now, like a miracle, his brother had returned—alive, whole.
Though many mysteries remained, though countless questions lingered, lying beside his brother now filled Zong Zhao with a long-lost sense of peace and contentment.
Before long, Zong Yan woke again.
The pain in his body forced him awake prematurely, and he resumed thrashing, demanding a knife—using fresh agony to drown out the other torment. Zong Zhao tried to restrain him but couldn’t bear to, until he saw Zong Yan sink his teeth into his own arm.
"Zong Yan!"
The bite was vicious, nearly tearing off flesh, instantly leaving his lips and arm a bloody mess.
All hesitation vanished. Zong Zhao pinned down Zong Yan’s limbs, refusing to let go no matter how hard he struggled. "Zong Yan, tell me—how else can I ease your pain? What besides a knife?"
Zong Yan’s eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead, tears welling in his eyes. In a voice raw with suffering, he sobbed, "Brother… it hurts… it hurts so much… Kill me. Just kill me."
