At the Cold Palace, the guard carrying Wushuang tossed him down onto the hard stone floor as though he were nothing more than a sack of refuse.
"Bring me a bucket of water," Hua ordered.
At once, a servant hurried off and returned with a wooden bucket, lowering his head as he handed it over. Hua took it without a word, then stepped around Wushuang's still form and emptied the entire bucket over him.
The freezing water struck him like a blow.
Wushuang jolted awake with a gasp, his body jerking as the cold seeped into his bones. He coughed hard, shivering violently, his drenched clothes clinging to his skin. The Cold Palace was cruel enough on its own, but the shock of icy water in this bitter place was something else entirely.
Hua let out a low laugh at the sight of him. "Look at him," he said mockingly. "Such a weak thing."
The guards beside him laughed as well. Wushuang braced one hand weakly against the ground, still coughing, when Hua suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.
"You dared to run away," Hua said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You have quite the nerve, Your Highness."
Pain shot through Wushuang's scalp, and a broken sound escaped him. "Let…" He clenched his jaw, trying to steady his breath. "Let me go."
"Hm?" Hua leaned closer, smiling as though he were indulging a child. "I cannot hear you, Your Highness. Speak louder. Or has the cold frozen your tongue?"
Wushuang lifted his head with effort, his face twisted with hatred. "Let me go," he said again, sharper this time. "Take your hands off me."
Hua slapped him so hard it sent his face snapping to the side.
"You little rat," Hua sneered. "You still think you have the right to demand anything?" He spread his arms and laughed coldly. "Look around you. Do you even remember where you are?"
Around them, the servants stood in silence, whispering under their breath but keeping their distance. Not one of them moved to interfere. Not one of them stepped forward to help the fallen prince.
Why would they?
The Jian clan had long since been condemned. Their name was cursed throughout the empire, spoken with fear, disgust, or bitter satisfaction. To many, the boy before them was not a prince deserving pity, but the remnant of a traitorous bloodline. Even those who did not openly hate him had learned better than to go near him. In the Cold Palace, mercy was a dangerous thing.
The guards kept their eyes elsewhere while the servants only watched.
Wushuang trembled from pain and cold, but even then, he forced himself upright. Slowly, unsteadily, he pushed himself to his feet and faced Hua.
A smile, thin and sharp, touched his lips.
"You searched so hard to find me," he said, his voice rough with mocking. "Did you miss me that much?" He tilted his head faintly. "Or were you only afraid of the Emperor's wrath?"
Even after all this time, after everything, he had endured, it had not broken him.
Hua's expression darkened instantly. "Good," he said through clenched teeth. "Very good. You still have the strength to speak." His chest rose and fell with fury before he barked, "Hold him down."
The two guards seized Wushuang at once and forced him back to his knees.
Wushuang laughed softly, though there was no amusement in it. "Still unable to do anything yourself, Servant Hua?" he said, putting heavy emphasis on the title. "Always needing your dogs to help you?"
Hua went very still. Then, to Wushuang's surprise, he smiled. "I may be a servant," Hua said, "but tell me… who is kneeling before whom?"
The words struck deeper than any slap.
Wushuang's face twisted with rage, and he struggled violently against the guards holding him. "You insolent fool!"
Hua only laughed. "You Jian whelps were always troublesome." His gaze sharpened with cruel delight. "Good thing your clan was wiped out."
The words hit like a blade.
Wushuang froze.
"Shut up," he said, but the words came out low, almost breathless.
Hua heard the weakness in it and pressed harder. "Your clan," he continued, his tone almost conversational now, "your brother, and you. All traitors to this empire."
"That is a lie," Wushuang said.
"A lie?" Hua crouched before him, studying his face with open malice. "Then why are you here, abandoned in this place? Why has no one come for you?" He gestured toward the empty, ruined surroundings. "Look around. They all fear you or despise you. Even the Emperor has left you here to rot."
Wushuang's lips tightened. He lowered his head, biting down hard on his lower lip.
"You are nothing now," Hua said. "No power. No family. No one to save you." He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Not even your precious elder brother."
"Stop," Wushuang said softly.
But Hua had already found the wound and had no intention of sparing it. "Do you know why no one is coming?" he asked, gripping Wushuang's chin and forcing him to look up. "Because they are all dead." he laughed.
Wushuang snapped. "I'LL KILL YOU!" he roared, his voice tearing out of him raw and broken. "YOU BASTARD!"
The guards tightened their hold as he thrashed violently, and Hua only laughed harder.
"He is going mad," Hua said with satisfaction. From his side, he drew out a whip.
"This time," he said, rising to his feet, "I will beat every last trace of defiance out of you."
The whip cracked through the air.
Then it landed across Wushuang's back.
The sound echoed through the courtyard.
A few servants flinched. Some turned their faces away. Others walked off as though this were nothing new. In truth, for them, it was not. Scenes like this had long become part of life in the Cold Palace. Everyone endured it in their own way. Some by watching. Some by pretending not to see.
Hua did not stop.
Again and again.
Each strike tore across the young prince's back, each one a cruel reminder of what his life had become. Wushuang clenched his jaw at first, refusing to give Hua the satisfaction of a cry, but pain had its limits. By the tenth lash, a scream finally ripped free from his throat, sharp enough to cut through the frozen air.
Still Hua continued.
By the time the thirtieth stroke fell, Wushuang's strength was gone. His back was marked and bleeding, his body trembling. The guards released him and he collapsed to the ground in a broken heap, no longer able to hold himself up.
Hua stood over him for a moment, breathing hard from exertion, then let out a cold scoff.
"What a disappointment," he muttered.
And with that, he turned and walked away.
No one came to lift Wushuang from the ground. One by one, the servants drifted away, and the courtyard emptied as though nothing of consequence had happened at all. At the Cold Palace, this was only another day.
"Mother…" Wushuang's voice was barely more than a whisper, thin and fragile with pain. "Mother…"
He tried to push himself up from the floor, but his arms trembled beneath him and gave way. He fell back down with a weak gasp, coughing as blood and exhaustion burned through his chest. His vision blurred and every part of his body screamed.
Still, he tried again.
Slowly, painfully, Wushuang forced himself upright and staggered toward his chambers. Each step felt heavier than the last. By the time he reached his bed, he no longer had the strength to climb onto it. He collapsed beside it instead, crumpling onto the cold floor.
For a boy of his age, the pain was unbearable. Even a grown man would have struggled to endure thirty lashes like that.
"Brother…" he whispered at last.
Then exhaustion dragged him under.
A shadow slipped soundlessly into the room.
The figure moved with care, avoiding even the faintest noise as he crossed the threshold. When he reached Wushuang's side, he paused, then reached up and pulled the cloth mask away from his face.
It was Lianju.
He had not seen the beating from the very beginning. By the time he found a way to sneak into the Cold Palace grounds, the punishment was over. He had only caught sight of the guards leaving and Wushuang dragging himself, half-conscious and bloodied, back into this miserable room.
Even now, the memory of it made his expression darken.
What kind of people whipped a child like that?
He looked at the marks on Wushuang's face, at the blood of the lash wounds staining his back, and his jaw tightened. It was cruel and Inhuman.
Quietly, he bent down and slipped an arm beneath Wushuang's shoulders, lifting him with as much care as he could manage. He laid him gently on the bed. Fortunately, no servants lingered nearby, and from what he had already seen, none of them cared enough to come close.
"What did you even do?" Lianju murmured under his breath.
Hours passed.
Lianju remained in the room, cleaning Wushuang's wounds with the supplies he had brought and carefully applying what little medicine he carried with him. To his surprise, not a single person came by all the while he worked. No servant. No guard. No one.
It was as though the boy lying on the bed had been abandoned even within the palace walls.
At last, when there was nothing more he could do, Lianju sat back on the chair near the bedside and let out a long breath.
Some time later, Wushuang stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep and pain. The burning across his back was still there, sharp and merciless, but no longer as unbearable as before. He lifted a hand weakly and noticed the clean bandages wrapped across his chest.
His brows drew together.
When had that happened?
Certainly none of the servants would have dared to tend to him.
He pushed himself upright too quickly, and a sharp pain tore through him at once.
"Do not move so much," Lianju said from nearby. "Unless you want the wounds to split open again."
Wushuang turned at once, startled.
Lianju sat in the dim room as though he belonged there, his posture relaxed despite the danger of his being found.
"What are you doing here?" Wushuang asked, his tone turning cold at once, though surprise still lingered beneath it.
Lianju gave him a look of exaggerated injury. "That attitude again? This is the second time I've helped you."
Wushuang stared at him, then repeated, quieter this time, "How did you get in here?"
"Oh, that?" Lianju waved a hand lightly. "I slipped past the guards. I saw those bad men take you away. I could hardly leave my dear friend all alone, could I?" As he spoke, he rose from his chair and began wandering around the room, glancing at the walls and the bare, lifeless surroundings.
"So this is where you live," he said, looking around with open disbelief. "Not quite what I expected."
Wushuang frowned. "You should not be here."
Lianju nodded, though it was clear he had no intention of listening immediately. He turned back toward the bed, his expression shifting into something more serious.
"Who are you really?" he asked. "And what did you do to make them beat you like that?" He narrowed his eyes. "And do not say it is none of my business."
Wushuang lowered his head slightly. "I live here."
Lianju blinked. "With those lunatics?"
"They are servants," Wushuang said quietly.
"Servants?" Lianju repeated, stunned. "Then what are you? Some nobleman's son?"
Wushuang said nothing.
Lianju stared at him, baffled. "If they are your servants, why would they treat you like that? That makes no sense."
Of course it made no sense. What kind of servants dared lay hands on their master? What kind of household allowed such things?
But the room itself already felt like an answer. There was nothing princely in it. Nothing warm. Nothing human.
"You should leave," Wushuang said again.
Lianju threw up his hands. "There it is again. Not even a proper thank you for helping me."
Wushuang's fingers tightened against the blanket. "If they find you here," he said, not looking at him, "I cannot protect you."
The words hung in the room for a moment.
Lianju looked at him in silence.
Then, with a soft sigh, he turned and made his way back toward the same hidden route he had used to enter. He slipped out without another word, leaving Wushuang alone once more in the dim, silent room.