Chapter Thirty: Watching and Waiting

Thud.

Qu Hanchen shrank back, turning his head in an attempt to avoid looking at Duan Lingqi, who had just been tossed in by the ghost guard and landed in an undignified heap, face-first on the ground. But it was rare for Qu Hanchen to witness Duan Lingqi—who was always obsequious and deferential to Su Yuanbai—appear so ridiculous, so he couldn't help stealing another glance.

“Look again and I'll gouge your eyes out!”

Duan Lingqi, shifting his body on the ground, snapped viciously at Qu Hanchen, who was sneaking glances at him.

“You’re tied up tight with that jade-green rope. Do you really think you could break free? Now look what you've done: not only did you fail to escape, but you even managed to get us transferred to a bigger cell.”

Xi Chunxue, as always, showed Duan Lingqi no mercy, speaking coldly.

“That damned ox-head! Why were all the ox-headed ghosts able to merge together?! If not for that, I’d have broken through long ago!”

Duan Lingqi’s limbs were bound by a green rope, and now he resembled nothing so much as his yellow python form from Dongxu Mountain, inching along the ground by wriggling his body.

Earlier at the corridor entrance, all the ox-headed ghosts had suddenly plunged into the body of the blue-faced ox-head that had blocked Duan Lingqi's way. The blue-faced ox-head’s features glowed with an eerie light, a suit of azure armor materialized on its body, and its already bulging, veined arms swelled still further. Both hands pressed down on Duan Lingqi's forehead, pinning him in place, not allowing him to advance another step.

What happened next was simple. The white-faced horse-head, unhurried, undid a loop of glowing green rope from its belt, and bound Duan Lingqi, who was still struggling with the ox-head. Then Duan Lingqi was tossed into the prison cell.

“They are, after all, Ox-Head and Horse-Face. Though there are said to be hundreds of thousands of such wardens in the underworld, not all of them are mere wine-sacks and rice-bags,” Xi Chunxue sighed as she looked at the Spirit-Binding Chain on her wrist. If it weren’t for this chain, she might still have some means; Mount Wuliang had no shortage of techniques to counter ghosts, but with this chain, all she could do was watch helplessly.

“Surely he won’t really just leave us here?” Qu Hanchen asked, clinging to a shred of hope.

“I haven’t known him long, so I can’t say what sort of person he is. But you—one a prison guard, the other his companion of many years in this place—should have a better sense than I do,” Xi Chunxue replied, shaking her head as she glanced at the purple-clad ghost guards patrolling outside the corridor.

Aside from those patrolling guards, there was another pair of Ox-Head and Horse-Face out there. Though these two looked somewhat inexperienced and lacked the imposing presence of those who had escorted them, they were no less difficult to deal with.

“He only ever gives me instructions every fifty years. Other than that, I wouldn’t dare approach him,” Duan Lingqi said, wriggling into a more comfortable position. The spot beneath him was soft, as if cushioned by a bundle of cotton.

“Is it only because of the blood pact? Are you truly so afraid of him?” Xi Chunxue looked at Duan Lingqi in some surprise.

“How could I not be? In the three hundred years I’ve been locked in Bi Zhen Prison, I’ve never met anyone who isn’t afraid of him—guard or prisoner alike. No one in the prison dares meddle in his affairs, except for this foolish boy here, who’s been dutifully doing his job as a guard these past few years and tried to rein him in,” Duan Lingqi shivered, recalling certain unpleasant memories.

“If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t he leave the prison?” Xi Chunxue asked, brow furrowed.

“That I don’t know. But though he doesn’t leave, he’s sent plenty of prisoners out from here—supposedly to the Twelve Provinces,” Duan Lingqi said, shifting his body so his head rested more comfortably on the soft, cotton-like material beneath him.

“He’s released the prisoners of Bi Zhen Prison?! Without a formal sea-crossing document, how does he make them cross the vast ocean?” Xi Chunxue exclaimed in shock.

The prisoners here were hardly ordinary criminals; they were those guilty of truly heinous crimes, only locked up in Bi Zhen Prison for the gravest offenses. Xi Chunxue did not deny that perhaps a few suffered wrongful imprisonment, but the vast majority deserved their fate.

Yet what shocked her most was not this, but the notion that, without the proper sea-crossing documents, the crystalline Dragon Palace under the ocean would not care whether these prisoners lived or died. The furious storms and monstrous sea creatures could easily claim any life, even that of a skilled swimmer.

“That’s impossible. In the three years I’ve been here, I’ve never heard of a single prisoner escaping or going missing,” Qu Hanchen scratched his head, clearly skeptical.

His disbelief stemmed not only from never having heard of a missing prisoner, but also because he felt that, even if that handsome man wasn’t a good person, he wasn’t exactly evil either. Every prisoner here had committed crimes that made Qu Hanchen’s blood boil just hearing about them. If someone sent them back to the Twelve Provinces, how many more horrific crimes and tragedies would follow?

“Heh, Bi Zhen Prison has stood for eight hundred ninety-two years. You’ve only been here for three. Besides, he was on Sangyu Island even before the prison was built. To be frank, it would be child’s play for him to send out any prisoner—or even kill a warden from the Prison Bureau if he wished,” Duan Lingqi said coldly, his tone dismissive of the guard’s naive hopes.

“But how does he get these prisoners across the sea?”

Xi Chunxue pressed on.

“From what I’ve read and heard in the bookhouses across the Twelve Provinces, it might be connected to the rebellion of the feudal princes of Old Qin nine hundred years ago. The rebellious prince of Yunhai Province was executed, and his wife and children were imprisoned and exiled,” Duan Lingqi said with a clever smile, raising his dragon head slightly.

“What does the turmoil among the feudal princes of Old Qin nine hundred years ago have to do with helping prisoners cross the sea?” Xi Chunxue asked, frowning at Duan Lingqi.

“Hmph! There are things you don’t know, aren’t there?” Duan Lingqi, emboldened by her question, spoke with even more pride.

“If you tell me the connection, I’ll tell you something about yourself—though it’s not terribly important,” Xi Chunxue said quietly, glancing at the soft thing beneath Duan Lingqi.

“What could possibly concern me? Other than that little beast at Yundong Lake, I have nothing I care about,” Duan Lingqi muttered, turning his head to look at the downcast Xi Chunxue.

“Well, are you going to tell me or not?” Xi Chunxue looked up and fixed him with her gaze.

“Don’t be hasty. The prince of Yunhai Province had many children, but one son once saved a woman by the sea—and she turned out to be a dragon princess from the Crystal Dragon Palace beneath the ocean...” Duan Lingqi said, shaking his head as he recounted the story.

“Then, on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the two vowed to marry, but the Dragon King of the Sea opposed their union, so the dragon princess could not keep the appointment. The man used a treasure given by an immortal to boil the sea; the waves churned, and the Dragon King had no choice but to invite the man to the Dragon Palace and wed him to the dragon princess...” Qu Hanchen continued, watching Duan Lingqi mutter the tale.

“Eh?! And how do you know about that?” Duan Lingqi looked at Qu Hanchen in astonishment.

Even Xi Chunxue was surprised, glancing over at Qu Hanchen.

“You’re talking about the popular play ‘Su Sheng Boils the Sea.’ I’ve watched it countless times—I know all the details by heart,” Qu Hanchen hesitated, then closed his eyes and confessed the truth.