In the Ming Dynasty, I became invincible simply by extracting memories!

Two women entered. One was dressed in red, the other in green; both were about seventeen or eighteen years old, with beautiful faces and graceful figures. The one in red carried a celadon tea tray, while the one in green carried a plate of osmanthus cakes.

The tea tray is made of Longquan celadon, with a vibrant green glaze. The osmanthus cake is sprinkled with golden osmanthus blossoms, making it look incredibly appetizing.

They walked to the table. The woman in red poured tea for Fang Xuejian, her wrist revealing a glimpse of fair, delicate skin as she turned it, her wrist bones slender and her fingers like scallions. The woman in green pushed a plate of pastries toward him, her fingertips inadvertently brushing against the back of his hand. Those fingertips were slightly cool and carried the sweet fragrance of osmanthus oil.

The woman who poured the tea didn't leave after finishing; instead, she stood beside Fang Xuejian, her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were soft, and the pressure on his shoulder was light, as light as a falling petal. But Fang Xuejian could feel the warmth of those five fingers, burning like five hot irons through the thin, coarse cloth of his prison uniform.

"Scholar Fang, please have some tea." The woman in red spoke in a soft, gentle voice with a Southern Zhili accent. "This is this year's pre-rain Longjing tea, specially prepared for you by Lord Zhao."

The woman in green walked around to Fang Xuejian's other side, leaning half her body against him. Her waist was very soft, as if boneless, pressed against Fang Xuejian's arm, and he could feel her body heat through the thin silk. Fang Xuejian's arm froze, like a branch coiled around a snake, afraid to move.

"Young master, don't just sit there, have something to eat." The woman in green picked up a piece of osmanthus cake and held it to Fang Xuejian's lips. Osmanthus petals from the cake clung to his lips. "Come on, open your mouth—"

Fang Xuejian clenched his teeth, making a clicking sound, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The sweetness of the osmanthus cake seeped into his lips, and he tasted a hint of sweetness on his tongue, which made his stomach churn even more violently.

The woman in red walked around to him, bent down, and cupped his face in her hands. Her palms were warm, and holding his cheeks felt like holding a fragile piece of porcelain. She leaned closer, her nose almost touching his, and her breath on his face carried the scent of tea.

"Young master, don't be afraid," she said softly. "We're not tigers; we don't eat people."

Her lips were less than two inches from his. Fang Xuejian could see the curve of her eyelashes and his own reflection in her pupils—disheveled, his face flushed.

Fang Xuejian jerked backward, his head hitting the wall with a dull thud. His face was flushed red to the roots of his neck, his ears felt hot and swollen as if they had been roasted, and his collarbone was flushed.

"Lord Zhao! What are you doing!"

Zhao Yan smiled, picked up his wine glass, and took another sip. The wine left a thin layer of moisture on his lips, shimmering brightly in the lamplight.

"Scholar Fang, don't be nervous. Men are naturally inclined to eat and have sex. You've studied hard for so many years, it's time to enjoy yourself."

The woman in red didn't back down; instead, she grew bolder, reaching out and grabbing Fang Xuejian's wrist. Her fingers were slender, but surprisingly strong, pulling him towards the bed.

"Young master, you've been locked up in this cold cell for so long, your body must be stiff, right? Let me help you relax." Her voice was soft and sweet, like the sticky rice cakes of Jiangnan, almost cloyingly sweet.

The woman in green pushed his shoulder from the other side, and the two women, one on each side, moved him towards the bed. Fang Xuejian's feet dragged on the ground, the chains rattling. He tried to struggle, but the two women's hands were like two snakes, wrapped around his arms, and he couldn't shake them off no matter how hard he tried.

"No—don't touch me!" Fang Xuejian's voice changed, becoming as sharp as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

He was pushed to the edge of the bed, his knees hitting the edge, and he fell backward, landing face up on the bed. The bed was soft, the bedding clean, and it smelled of soap. But Fang Xuejian felt dizzy, his mind buzzing as if a thousand bees were flying around.

The woman in red pressed down on him, one hand on his chest, the other trying to unbutton his collar. The buttons on the prison uniform were twisted strips of cloth, making them difficult to unbutton. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, she simply ripped them open with force. With a "ripping" sound, the collar was torn open, revealing Fang Xuejian's thin, bony collarbone.

"Stop!" Fang Xuejian pushed her desperately, his hands and feet flailing about like a drowning person struggling.

"Scholar Fang, you're still a virgin, aren't you?" Zhao Yan laughed casually, taking another sip of wine, leaving a thin sheen on his lips. "It's not your fault, you've been studying so hard, you haven't had time to think about this. If you're willing to talk, you can choose one of these two girls to take with you. After you get out of prison, she'll be your wife. If you like both, you can take them both."

A woman dressed in green brought over a glass of wine at some point, the amber liquid swirling in the white porcelain cup. She sat down on the edge of the bed, pinched Fang Xuejian's chin with one hand, forcing him to open his mouth, and brought the wine glass to his lips with the other.

"Young master, have a drink, it will make you less nervous."

The liquor spurted into his mouth, burning and stinging his throat. Fang Xuejian coughed violently, the liquor overflowing from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin, and dripping onto his prison uniform, spreading into a dark stain. It was strong liquor, so potent it could be set on fire, burning from his throat all the way to his stomach, like someone had poured a bowl of boiling oil into his belly.

"Cough cough cough—Stop! I said stop!"

He suddenly jerked away, throwing the woman in red off him. She cried out and fell onto the inside of the bed, her hair disheveled and her black locks scattered across the pillow. The woman in green was also pushed and stumbled; her wine cup fell to the ground and shattered into pieces, spilling wine everywhere.

Fang Xuejian rolled off the bed, his knee hitting the floor tiles, making him wince in pain. He scrambled away on all fours, shrinking into a corner with his back against the wall, hugging his knees and curling up into a ball.

His face was covered in alcohol, his eyes were full of tears, his lips were trembling, his hands were trembling, and he looked like a leaf blown away by the wind.

"Lord Zhao." But he clenched his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw twitched. "If you want to kill me, do it to me. Don't do this...this..."

He couldn't continue. The redness on his face had spread to the base of his neck, and his collarbone was also flushed.

Zhao Yan looked at him, his smile slowly fading. He waved his hand lightly, as if shooing away a fly that had landed on a table. The two women tactfully withdrew, their skirts brushing against the threshold, making a soft rustling sound. The door to the side room closed again, and the shadow on the Korean paper returned to its original position.

"Scholar Fang, have you thought this through?" Zhao Yan's voice turned cold, no longer gentle. "Lord Wei gave you this opportunity because you are a scholar and he doesn't want you to suffer physical pain. If you refuse to listen to reason, you'll have to suffer the consequences—"

"Lord Zhao," Fang Xuejian interrupted him, "I'm just a scholar who spent four months in the imperial prison. I know nothing. Shen Lian has said less than a hundred sentences to me. Even if you skin me alive, I still won't be able to say what you want to hear."

He paused, then swallowed.

"Besides, if you ask me to betray him, how can I face anyone afterward? I've studied hard for ten years, only to betray my friend for personal gain? Do you Jinyiwei think highly of someone like that?"

"If you really want to know anything, I'll tell you his name is Shen Lian, just like me, a death row inmate who will be tortured to death."

Zhao Yan stared at him, and Fang Xuejian met his gaze without flinching.

"Alright." Zhao Yan stood up, casually slipping the silver ingot on the table into his sleeve. The movement was so subtle, as if he was deliberately letting Fang Xuejian see the silver ingot disappear before his eyes. "Scholar Fang, you have backbone. But backbone is worthless in the imperial prison."

He walked to the door and opened it. The light from the corridor shone in, casting his shadow on the floor tiles, which stretched all the way to Fang Xuejian's feet.

"Think it over carefully. Once you've made up your mind, feel free to contact me."

The door closed. The footsteps faded into the distance, the sound of boots on the stone slabs growing fainter and then disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Fang Xuejian shrank back, his heart churning.

He was used to hardship, viewing adversity as a way to temper his character and awaken his spirit once he got through it. The typical way of life for a small-town exam-taker was similar. But this path of money and beautiful women was something he'd never encountered in either of his two lives. He almost couldn't handle it and had no idea how to navigate it.

But when he thought of Shen Lian's words, "We're bound together," he realized that whether he said it or not, the outcome was already predetermined; they were both in the same boat. Besides, he could never truly understand Shen Lian, nor knew how many tricks and schemes the other man had up his sleeve; all he could see were the unseen entanglements and bonds.

The sauce on the braised pork belly had solidified, forming a thin film on the surface that shimmered in the light. The topping for the sweet and sour fish had also dried up, clinging wrinkled to the fish like a layer of dried red mud.

He crawled over, grabbed the meat with his hands, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Tears were salty, and flesh was sweet; mixed together, they created a flavor he had never tasted before.

"No matter what methods they use, just stick to one sentence: you know nothing."

Shen Lian did what he said he would do.

Zhao Yan did not return to his duty room, but went directly to Wei Liangbi's place.

Wei Liangbi's guardhouse was located at the deepest part of the imperial prison, requiring passage through three iron gates. Behind each gate stood two captains, their waists adorned with embroidered spring knives, standing ramrod straight like two wooden stakes driven into the ground.

The door to the duty room was made of iron, but it was covered with a layer of wooden planks on the inside. Copper nails were nailed to the door panel, nine rows and nine columns, eighty-one copper nails in total, gleaming dimly in the light of the oil lamp. Zhao Yan knocked on the door three times, two short and one long, which was a tacitly agreed-upon signal within the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

"Come in."

Wei Liangbi's voice came from inside, carrying the composure of someone who had long held a high position.

Zhao Yan pushed open the door and went in.

The duty room wasn't large, but it was very tidy. Along the wall was a row of metal cabinets, each door labeled with the year and file number. In the center was a rosewood table, covered with a felt mat, on which rested a Duan inkstone, still damp with ink. In the corner was a copper brazier, its charcoal burning brightly, making the entire room warm and cozy.

Wei Liangbi sat behind his desk, several documents spread out in front of him. He seemed to be in good spirits today, wearing a dark blue Taoist robe, his hair tied up with a jade hairpin, dressed like a scholar-official. But his eyes gleamed with a cold light.

Zhao Yan walked to the desk, stopped, and bowed respectfully, saying, "Lord Wei."

"Sit down," Wei Liangbi said, pointing to the chair next to him.

Zhao Yan adjusted his posture, sat down, straightened his back, and placed his hands on his knees.

"Fang Xuejian won't speak," Zhao Yan said bluntly. "You've tried everything—beauty, money, future prospects. He's not buying it."

Wei Liangbi was casually flipping through the documents in front of him. He read a few lines, then flipped back, seemingly deep in thought.

Zhao Yan didn't urge him. He had worked in the Embroidered Uniform Guard for twelve years and knew Wei Liangbi's rules—no one was allowed to interrupt him when he was thinking.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Wei Liangbi finally raised his head.

"Has Zhou Kui arrived yet?"

"Wait outside," Zhao Yan said.

"Let him in."