Chapter 8

Chapter 8: A Prisoner Made Trouble, and They Made an Example

The Xie family clustered together, checking wounds and sharing what little medicine they had.

Around them, others did the same—tending bruises, pressing cloth to cuts, or simply sitting with hollow eyes. After half a day on the road, most complaints had burned out. Now everyone wanted the same two things: food and sleep.

Tu Hua scanned the camp and noticed something odd.

Some prisoners had their shackles removed for the night.

She frowned and looked back at Xie Yu Chuan. “They don’t take off restraints when people rest?”

Xie Yu Chuan leaned against the tree, eyes lifting toward the escort camp. “The Xie family’s case is too strange. The yamen runners may have their own intentions.”

“They’re afraid you’ll run?”

He shook his head. “The Xie family has many old, weak, women, and children. If one person runs, the rest get implicated too. Unless forced, most won’t flee. We just set out. They aren’t harsh yet, and they aren’t showing favoritism either. They’re watching. Testing.”

Tu Hua eyed the iron as if she could bully it into unlocking. “So you’re wearing this the whole way?”

“Of course not.” His tone was calm, almost certain. “After tomorrow, we won’t need it.”

Tu Hua didn’t know what would change tomorrow, but he sounded like a man who already did. She let it go.

A cold gust slid through the camp, and Tu Hua shivered. When she stuffed her hands into her pockets, her fingers brushed something hard and familiar.

Candy.

Her mouth curled. “Here. Have some. Sugar helps with stamina.”

In the next instant, Xie Yu Chuan felt a handful of paper-wrapped sweets appear in his palm.

He glanced down, then up, expression caught between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

The household god treated him like he was five.

Tu Hua wandered the camp, listening more than watching. There were a few households like the Xie family—smaller clusters, fewer people, the same tight, exhausted huddle against the cold.

She picked up gossip the way the wind picked up ash.

From low whispers among the prisoners, she learned the Marquis of Dong Bo’s family was in the convoy. So was Han Lin Academician Zhang Da Yi and his mother.

One, they said, had been stripped and exiled for refusing a royal marriage.

The other, for angering the sovereign and being kicked off to Bian Zhou.

In an age where power sat on a dragon throne, Tu Hua thought, life and death probably depended on a single mood.

The constables didn’t hand out food until they felt like it. Those who’d received supplies from family at the gate could nibble and endure. Those without anyone were forced to sit and wait, stomachs gnawing on themselves.

Madam Ruan opened the bundle her mother had given her, wanting to share the food among the Xie family.

Madam Zhou stopped her. “Keep it. You and Rui Ge Er will need it for emergencies. We’ll get fed soon.”

Madam Ruan hesitated anyway, then took a small portion to Old Madam Xie. “Grandmother, please. At least eat a little.”

Old Madam Xie looked at the food, then at the small child in Madam Ruan’s arms. “A Nan, you have a good heart. But your mother-in-law is right. Keep it. The road will be long.”

As if on cue, yamen runners began carrying rough cakes down the line.

They shouted as they went. “By regulation: two meals a day. One rough cake per person per meal. Children get half. Don’t waste grain.”

Another yamen runner, louder and smugger, raised his voice. “Listen up! Tonight is the first night. Official Xiong is merciful—he knows you just started out. You’ve walked less than half a day and you’re already resting. The road ahead is long, and disasters don’t ask permission. The official says you’ll eat your fill tonight—two cakes each. Tomorrow you walk faster. Don’t cause trouble for the men on duty.”

Some prisoners thanked them repeatedly. Others accepted the cakes without expression. The Xie family did the same—heads down, hands steady.

Then, in the next line over, a prisoner suddenly stood and snapped, “This cake is hard as stone. I can’t bite it. How am I supposed to swallow this?”

Once one person spoke, others piled on immediately.

“Exactly! You’ve got steamed buns and hot soup over there—and roasted fish. Why do we get rough cakes?”

The yamen runners stopped distributing.

They stared at the complainers like they were looking at insects.

One with a temper pointed straight at the man’s face. “Eat it or don’t! Spoiled habits. You still think you’re some rich benefactor from the capital?”

He sneered. “Fine. You want fish? Come on, you young masters—if he doesn’t want cake, let him catch his own dinner.”

The camp sucked in a collective breath.

A few strong soldiers strode over, seized the troublemaker, and dragged him to the river. No speeches, no hesitation—they kicked him straight into the icy water.

In the quiet night, laughter rang out cruel and clear.

“Refusing a toast and insisting on a forfeit—what a talent!”

“There’s always some blind dog who can’t tell what he is!”

“Exiled already and still trying to order people around.”

“Go on, catch fish! Weren’t you hungry for roasted fish?”

“Catch a few dozen—make our night easier!”

They howled.

The prisoner flailed in the shallow current, face bruised, teeth chattering. The water wasn’t fast, but it was cold enough to make his limbs useless. Every time he clawed toward the bank, a boot shoved him back in.

“Hurry up and catch fish!” someone shouted. “Didn’t you say you don’t want cake? Then don’t eat!”

“You know who I am?!” the prisoner screamed, still clinging to pride like it could float him. “When we get there, you’ll pay!”

A bearded middle-aged man nearby shook his head, eyes tired. “Ignorant child.”

His family tugged his sleeve. “Say less.”

He nodded helplessly and bent to his own rough cake, chewing stone because stone was what the world offered.

By the river, the punishment continued. A whip cracked. A scream rose. People turned away, afraid to even look.

The message was simple: behave if you want to live.

It worked.

After dinner, Xiong Jiu Shan stood by the bonfire and surveyed the camp from above.

Among a hundred-plus prisoners, the Xie family stood out even when they tried not to.

He asked his subordinate, “Any demands from the Xie family?”

“None,” the yamen runner replied.

Xiong Jiu Shan’s eyes narrowed, surprised.

He was about to turn away when a report came in fast. “Official—there’s a Xie family woman who chased after the convoy.”