No one knows what was said inside the Imperial Study, only that suddenly the capital was under martial law. Entering or leaving the city now required passes or personal identification docunts, with extrely strict checks. At any mont, the Military Departnt personnel might grab a passing citizen to verify their identity, which was common knowledge.
Behind the scenes, so households changed their servants, so concubines died suddenly, and even so drivers were replaced.
Late at night, your ho might be broken into by people interrogating you, leaving no corner unchecked.
Even the Pri Minister’s Mansion found a few spies, and one was even posing as a brawny maid in Song Ci’s Courtyard, scaring Song Ci pale.
That fire-stoking girl looked so honest and simple-minded, yet she was a spy.
Song Ci began to see suspicion in everyone and even conspiratorially thought that the old lady’s death wasn’t just from ecstatic joy, but that she was poisoned.
In the capital, everyone was in a state of panic and unrest.
In a certain precinct collecting night soil, in an underground secret room, two fierce-looking n were scolding the ten or so wailing children before them.
"If you cry any more, I’ll sew your mouths shut with a needle and thread. Let’s see how you cry then."
"I’ll have my grandpa lock you all up in prison, you’re all bad people, big baddies!" A chubby boy shouted aggressively.
Aggravated, the man swung his large, palm-leaf fan hand heavily, hitting the child against the wall with a dull thud, and he slumped softly to the ground.
The crying stopped abruptly, and the group fearfully watched the towering man, huddled together.
A boy, around eight or nine years old, rushed over, his face pale, and checked the chubby boy’s breathing, releasing a breath once he found a faint trace of it, before turning his head and angrily saying, "You must want sothing from us to have abducted us here. If you kill us, how will you explain it to your superiors?"
The man paused, then barked uncertainly, "You think I’m afraid? You’re just a bunch of dead people to ."
"If you’re not afraid, then go ahead and kill us!" the boy shouted.
As the man was about to speak again, another bearded man kicked him, scolding, "Are you looking to die? ss this up, and death would be welco. Worse than living."
The man’s face changed several tis.
"Go get the golden sore dicine," the bearded man glared at him.
The man cursed as he left, soon returning with the golden sore dicine and bandages, tossing them to the boy.
The bearded man looked coldly at the boy, saying, "If you want to live, make them shut up. No more crying, or I’ll get annoyed. You’re not indispensable."
The little boy pressed his lips together silently, and after they left, he quickly picked up the golden sore dicine, put it on the chubby boy’s bleeding forehead, then clumsily wrapped it with bandages, making an ugly knot.
Having done everything, he lowered the chubby boy, glanced at the ten or so children who wanted to cry but didn’t dare, all looking at him expectantly, and sighed.
"Stop crying, let’s sleep."
"But, but brother, I miss my dad and mom," a little girl said, holding back tears.
"If you sleep, you won’t think about it. They’ll rescue us soon." He comforted her bitterly, patting the little girl’s head.
He could do nothing more, just hoping they would be found soon by their families.
He looked again at the chubby boy, worrying if he would be alright; he was the only child in his family.
The other children, hearing this, said nothing, just huddling together and sobbing quietly.
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