PCA Chapter 204

Perhaps because Zheng Yang had given instructions that day, the old woman who delivered food never forgot Su Cen’s meals again. She came twice a day, and even if he hadn’t eaten the previous meal, she would replace it with fresh food.

 

A few days later, new quilts and a brazier were delivered, along with several newly published storybooks from the market to help him pass the time.

 

Su Cen was quite content. Throughout the year, he rarely had time to just sit like this—not worrying about anything, having meals delivered on time. How many people in the world struggled for a single warm meal, yet he received it all without effort.

 

He just couldn’t think too much. About things outside, people outside—the slightest thought would make his heart ache like needles.

 

Every day when the old woman brought food, Su Cen would make a mark on the wall, until one day he suddenly reached the end of one wall.

 

Su Cen looked up and asked: “What date is it today?”

 

The old woman was slightly startled and looked up at the person inside. Usually when she came, this person was either reading or sleeping—today was rare that he spoke.

 

She had seen too many death row inmates held here. Some wept daily, others grabbed anyone they could find to claim their innocence, but this person had been neither crying nor making trouble since arriving, so peaceful that she often forgot his existence in the early days.

 

The old woman casually reported the date, but her gaze didn’t leave him.

 

Even disheveled, she could still see some clarity and handsomeness in his features. Those eyes were especially beautiful—though hidden behind messy hair, they still couldn’t conceal their brilliance. Though his frame was thin, his posture remained straight as a pine tree. The more she looked, the more he seemed out of place here.

 

She saw him pick up his rice bowl and mutter quietly: “How did it pass so quickly?”

 

The old woman casually asked: “What passed so quickly?”

 

Su Cen looked up and smiled gently at her, pointing to the rows of marks scratched on the wall: “Tomorrow is the day of my execution.”

 

The old woman was dazzled by that smile. What kind of person could smile while saying “tomorrow is the day of my execution”? He didn’t look particularly evil—why was someone so young in death row?

 

Before she realized it, the words had already left her mouth: “Young man, what did you do?”

 

Su Cen bit his chopsticks and thought seriously: “Probably because… I told the truth.”

 

“You have to die for telling the truth?”

 

“Because this truth was something no one dared to say, and even when said, no one dared believe it. Since they don’t dare believe it, they say my words are false. It seems that if I die, white can become black, the past can be treated as if it never happened, and everyone will be happy with peace under heaven.”

 

The old woman was puzzled: “If no one believes it, then why did you still say it?”

 

“Because…” the young man gently lowered his eyes, “facts are facts. Truth shouldn’t be obscured by lies. Some people shouldn’t die in confusion, and others shouldn’t live by stealing life.”

 

The old woman listened in confusion, finally deciding to ask something she could understand: “So young man, are you married?”

 

“Mm.” Su Cen was startled, then nodded heavily, his features brightening somewhat. “Though it wasn’t exactly a proper wedding ceremony, we did bow to heaven and earth and entered the bridal chamber. With heaven, earth, and ancestors as witnesses, we should count as husband and wife, right?”

 

“Looking at your kind face, your wife must also be a virtuous person, right?”

 

“He’s very good… very good…” Su Cen nodded while biting his chopsticks, then in the blink of an eye, tears as large as beans suddenly fell, striking the cold rim of the bowl with a clear sound.

 

The old woman knew she had touched on another painful subject, sighed softly, and stood up: “Since it’s your last meal, I’ll make you something delicious tomorrow. What would you like to eat?”

 

Su Cen thought for a moment and said: “Please trouble yourself to cook me a bowl of plain noodles.”

 

The old woman was startled. She had seen many death row inmates, all requesting various delicacies in different ways, but this was the first to ask for noodles. She couldn’t help but remind him: “Noodles are thin and soft—they’ll get mushy if brought over in soup.”

 

But she saw him nod with certainty: “It doesn’t matter, I just want a bowl of plain noodles.”

 

But he never got to eat that bowl of plain noodles. A few hours before the execution, two bailiffs suddenly came to the prison. First, they removed all the shackles from his hands and feet, then opened the cell door wide: “Let’s go.”

 

Su Cen stood there stunned for quite a while, until the two bailiffs grew impatient and shouted at him: “Are you going or not? Have you become addicted to living here?”

 

Su Cen felt his throat was dry, and after a long while managed to squeeze out two words: “Where to?”

 

“Wherever you want to go, who cares about you.”

 

The two bailiffs were too lazy to wait for him to dawdle any longer. Leaving the cell door wide open, they walked ahead, saying as they went: “How strange, someone who entered here actually came out alive—truly like a maiden’s first time in a sedan chair.”

 

Su Cen moved his hands and feet. Having grown accustomed to the weight, removing the shackles felt somewhat uncomfortable. After a long while, he finally moved out of the cell. Looking back, he saw the shackles fallen on the ground, that hard, cold stone slab, the moss-covered walls, and felt a somewhat surreal sensation.

 

Su Cen walked as if on clouds, each step unsteady. When he finally reached the prison entrance and hadn’t yet adjusted to the sudden sunlight, something suddenly collided with him head-on, nearly knocking him backward.

 

“Brother Su, Brother Su, you’re finally out…” A familiar voice cried inconsolably in his ear. Su Cen steadied himself several times before finally managing to stand firm, holding the soft, slender form in his arms as his senses gradually returned.

 

“Ling’er…” Su Cen gently patted the person’s back, trying several times to open his eyes but being forced back by the blinding light. Having stayed in darkness for so long, his eyes seemed to have deteriorated, unable to adapt to the outside sunlight.

 

“Don’t try to open your eyes yet,” came Zheng Yang’s voice. “Take it slowly, don’t hurt yourself.”

 

Su Cen nodded, pulling Qu Ling’er slightly away from his embrace and asked: “Who else is here?”

 

“Second Young Master, and me too,” Ah Fu quickly said.

 

There were no other voices.

 

To say he wasn’t disappointed would be a lie, but Su Cen only allowed himself to feel disappointed for a brief moment before stopping himself. He groped forward a few steps: “Zheng Yang?”

 

Zheng Yang quickly reached out to catch him: “I’m here.”

 

“What exactly is going on?”

 

Su Cen couldn’t see the expression on the person’s face, but heard a subtle sigh. Zheng Yang then gently patted his hand: “No matter what, it’s good that you’re alright.”

 

After returning to the Su residence and waiting another half day, Su Cen’s eyes could finally open somewhat in the room. He watched Ah Fu bustling about, heating water for his bath and preparing meals, setting out a full table of his favorite dishes.

 

From the gates of hell back to the warmth of human life, Su Cen confirmed repeatedly before finally understanding whether he was in reality or a dream.

 

Qu Ling’er was like a rarely quiet little quail, staying by his side without speaking, but his gaze never left Su Cen’s face.

 

“What?” Su Cen unconsciously touched his face and asked: “Still not clean?”

 

“No,” Qu Ling’er quickly shook his head, his mouth trembling as tears streamed down again. He threw himself into Su Cen’s arms: “Brother Su, I thought I’d never see you again…”

 

“Silly Ling’er,” Su Cen smiled and patted his back, feeling somewhat melancholy inside. He called Qu Ling’er silly, but wasn’t he the same?

 

The noon execution time had passed, yet his head was still on his neck—that was indeed quite extraordinary.

 

There was still a faint sour smell in the air. Su Cen thought he had bathed thoroughly enough, and the clothes were all ones Ah Fu had fumigated with incense, but he couldn’t find the source anywhere. Finally, Su Cen leaned over to smell Qu Ling’er.

 

A sour, rancid smell hit him, mixed with some rancid oil odor.

 

Su Cen pushed him away slightly: “Ling’er… you seem to smell too.”

 

No wonder when the two hugged, neither minded the other—they were truly “birds of a feather.”

 

“Do I?” Qu Ling’er lifted his sleeve to sniff it, then looked up at Su Cen innocently: “I always smell like this.”

 

Su Cen looked down and saw the two shoes on Qu Ling’er’s feet—one black, one red, with the red one almost turned black.

 

He vaguely remembered that before he went to prison, Qu Ling’er had already put on the wrong shoes, and these clothes… seemed to be the same ones from that day…

 

“You…” Su Cen discreetly moved a bit farther away. “How long has it been since you changed clothes?”

 

Qu Ling’er frowned and thought seriously: “Doesn’t Ah Fu wash me every day?”

 

Ah Fu, who was bringing shark fin chicken soup to the table: “I haven’t washed any clothes since Second Young Master’s incident.”

 

Qu Ling’er: “…”

 

Su Cen: “…”

 

He quietly moved even farther away.

 

Qu Ling’er, without any embarrassment, pounced on him again, grabbing Su Cen’s arms and shaking them: “Brother Su, you still owe me pork knuckle from Shunfu Restaurant and two ounces of osmanthus wine.”

 

He seemed to have promised to buy Qu Ling’er pork knuckle back then, but times had changed and people had changed—it was rare that Qu Ling’er still remembered.

 

“There’s no osmanthus wine,” Su Cen smiled at him. “When the first snow falls, I’ll make it up to you with a jar of yellow wine.”

 

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