"Crying?" Zong Zhao frowned.
It must be Little Kui.
Could a baby's cries also trigger pain in Zong Yan?
Zong Zhao pushed the door open and saw Zong Yan trembling, his legs curled up as he huddled in the corner of the bed, hands clutching his head. He seemed barely conscious, muttering incoherently.
"Zong Yan?" Zong Zhao softened his voice, leaning closer to listen. He caught only fragmented phrases: "Didn’t mean to…" "Not me…" "Don’t die…"
"Zong Yan, what’s wrong?"
Zong Yan covered his ears, raising bloodshot eyes filled with despair. "Let me go… let me go…"
Zong Zhao studied him carefully. This didn’t seem like physical pain—more like he’d been traumatized. "Are you afraid of a baby’s cries?"
Zong Yan shrank further into the corner, pressing his hands tighter over his ears. The sound was muffled but still there.
He didn’t answer, but Zong Zhao had already pieced it together. "I’ll move you to another courtyard."
Zong Zhao acted swiftly.
He instructed the Old Marquis to prepare the quietest, most distant courtyard available, then unfastened the chain and led Zong Yan there.
The new room was silent.
Zong Zhao could clearly see Zong Yan calming down.
He was terrified of a baby’s cries.
Combined with those broken words earlier, Zong Zhao had a sinking feeling—this was tied to something dark.
That night, Zong Zhao stayed again.
He stayed beside Zong Yan until, in the dead of night, Zong Yan suddenly rasped, "I’m a bad person."
Zong Zhao stiffened, eyes snapping open. He recalled Zong Yan’s past service under Crown Prince Jin'an, but…
"You’re not bad, Zong Yan. Don’t think like that. Don’t condemn yourself so harshly," he soothed. "Even if you helped Crown Prince Jin'an kill princes and seize the throne—those were You Country’s royals, our enemies. You made them turn on each other. You did nothing wrong."
Zong Yan said nothing, retreating into silence.
Zong Zhao burned with questions, but Zong Yan refused to speak, and he dared not push, afraid of triggering him.
Days later, their spy in You Country returned.
He brought everything about Zong Yan’s past.
At sixteen, Zong Yan had encountered Crown Prince Jin'an. Back then, their squad had been betrayed by Zong Qiyun and sent to die—only for the Crown Prince to ambush them.
On the cliff’s edge, Zong Yan had handed Zong Zhao the iron grappling hook and turned to fight You Country’s forces alone. Every moment of it was witnessed by Crown Prince Jin'an.
Skilled in crafting weapons, fiercely loyal, unmatched in combat… Such a talent would be wasted in death.
So the Crown Prince took Zong Yan to You Country. At first, he was treated as a prisoner, broken through three years of confinement. Then, after some unknown event, Zong Yan became the Crown Prince’s strategist.
History proved the Crown Prince’s foresight.
Zong Yan created a wire-thin, needle-short, razor-edged hidden weapon—bloodless, lethal. That very night, it claimed the life of a powerful general, crushing his faction’s ambitions.
But Crown Prince Jin'an was merciless. He slaughtered the general’s entire household—elderly, infants, none spared.
The fires raged in the capital for two days.
Official records called it an accident, but the court knew: this was political murder. The Crown Prince even pinned the blame on a rival prince, watching the chaos until his own ascension revealed the truth.
After this, Zong Yan vanished for four years.
By now, Zong Zhao understood: Though the massacre was the Crown Prince’s doing, Zong Yan saw himself as the catalyst, refusing further service.
Zong Zhao dreaded the answer but asked anyway: "His terror at a baby’s cries… Was he there during the slaughter?"
The spy shook his head. "I don’t know specifics. But after that, the Second Young Master disappeared. Five years later, assassinations resumed—princes, ministers—but no more mass killings. My guess? The Crown Prince compromised to keep him."
Zong Zhao disagreed. "After that, Zong Yan would never work for him again. His injuries… Did you find evidence of poison? Something undetectable by pulse?"
The spy hesitated. "No such poison… but there are rumors of gu."
"Gu?" Zong Zhao had only read myths about the venomous worms—never seen proof.
"Indeed. You Country legends speak of a ‘Divine Gu,’ gifted by gods to wise rulers, infallible in control. But there’s only one, kept by emperors, forbidden to use. Crown Prince Jin'an was just an heir years ago—he couldn’t have obtained it."
So gu remained folklore, even in You Country.
"I see. Dismissed."
A month ago, Zong Zhao had sent word to Feng Qinglai. Still no reply. The old man wandered endlessly—waiting for him could take forever.
Resigned, Zong Zhao sketched Feng Qinglai’s likeness and ordered, "Issue a nationwide bounty under the Zong family name: 1,000 taels for this man’s whereabouts."
Servants gasped.
Suddenly, quitting to hunt sounded tempting!
The bounty posters spread like wildfire, electrifying the entire Chu Country.
Ordinary rewards were pennies—maybe a few taels. A thousand? That was lifelong wealth!
Hilarity ensued. Greetings shifted from "Eaten yet?" to "Seen that old man?"
Recluses now prowled streets, eyes peeled for the "1,000-tael prize."
Even the oblivious scrutinized passersby, clutching hand-copied sketches for comparison.
Money was terrifying.
Within two weeks, amid a mob claiming "I found the real Feng Qinglai!", eight burly men carried in a white-bearded elder howling:
"Damn idiots! WRONG MAN!!!"
