Chapter 130: What You Fear Comes to Pass

“Is it true that the second young master of the Jin Prince’s mansion has been thrown into the Heavenly Prison?”

Upon seeing Chen Guanlou, Yu Zhaoan immediately leaned against the bars, urgently asking, his entire demeanor wildly erratic.

Chen Guanlou stepped back. “What are you doing, Master Yu?”

“First tell me—is it true?”

“And if it is?” Chen Guanlou countered.

Hahaha…

Yu Zhaoan burst into wild laughter, dancing with delight.

Chen Guanlou narrowed his eyes at him, increasingly convinced that Yu Zhaoan was a classic ambition-seeker, eager to stir up chaos—only when disorder arose could he profit from it.

Clearly, the second young master’s imprisonment had opened a path for Yu Zhaoan to seize advantage.

“Excellent, excellent!” Yu Zhaoan exclaimed after laughing, then asked, “Has the Jin Prince’s mansion sent anyone to attend to him?”

Chen Guanlou wanted to see what game Yu Zhaoan was playing, so he answered truthfully: “No. The Jin Prince’s mansion has never sent a single person.”

Upon hearing this, Yu Zhaoan beamed. “Then all the better!”

“May I ask, Master Yu, why are you so delighted?”

Yu Zhaoan chuckled. “Want to know? Seize the opportunity I’m offering you—you’ll learn everything.”

No sooner had he spoken than Chen Guanlou turned and walked away.

Yu Zhaoan cursed him for being ungrateful.

Chen Guanlou gave him the middle finger. A mere third-rank cultivator—nothing special.

When he first met Yu Zhaoan, that third-rank cultivator had crushed him under pressure.

Now, he could look down on third-rank cultivators.

Strength is confidence.

After enduring two more days, ensuring everything proceeded as planned and his subordinates performed their duties diligently, Chen Guanlou decided to return home and rest.

Upon arriving home, he heard shouting from across the courtyard—Chen Ergou’s house again. Pan Niangzi was being scolded.

Her mother-in-law was vicious—a widowed old woman who, after losing her son, took out all her rage on her daughter-in-law.

Chunxiang’s sister, unable to bear it, feigned a need for salt and came over to Chen Guanlou’s house to vent.

“That Hu Dama is unbearable. Her husband’s dead, her son’s dead—we know she’s pitiful. But she still has a grandson. Pan Niangzi is a gentle, obedient, virtuous woman. If she just endures a little longer, things will improve once the grandson grows up. Why must she constantly berate Pan Niangzi? One day she’ll drive Pan Niangzi to death—then I’d like to see how this old hag raises her grandson alone.”

“She scolds her every day?” Chen Guanlou asked curiously.

Chunxiang’s sister nodded vigorously. “I can’t even watch. Pan Niangzi is so pitiful. Such a gentle, virtuous woman—what possible grievance does Hu Dama have that she must drive her to death?”

Chunxiang’s sister sympathized with Pan Niangzi, but it was their family’s private matter; as an outsider, she couldn’t intrude. All she could do was come to Chen Guanlou and complain.

Chen Guanlou spread his hands—he was a single man; even speaking to Pan Niangzi required caution about appearances, let alone interfering in family affairs.

Chunxiang’s sister sighed repeatedly. “Are we just going to stand by and watch?” She felt Pan Niangzi’s suffering deeply, having once been a daughter-in-law herself, enduring years of abuse from her own mother-in-law.

“Why not tell Pan Niangzi to stand up for herself? Now their whole household depends on her—they can’t manage inside or out without her.”

“Would that work?”

“It’s easy to change a kingdom, hard to change one’s nature. Whether it works? Unclear.” Chen Guanlou had no hope—he was just offering a random suggestion.

Chunxiang’s sister was torn—sympathetic to Pan Niangzi’s plight, yet furious at her for not fighting back, and enraged at the wicked mother-in-law.

Unable to think of a solution, she shifted topics: “I haven’t seen you in days—is the Heavenly Prison really that busy?”

“Extremely busy! There are too many prisoners—everyone in the prison is swamped.”

“I feel like the capital is falling apart. The Embroidered Uniform Guard patrols the streets every other day—it’s terrifying. It never used to be like this. What’s going on this year? Do you have any inside information from your post in the yamen?” Chunxiang’s sister asked curiously.

“I have no inside information—just rumors. All I know is that hundreds of officials gathered at the palace gates to petition.”

Chen Guanlou didn’t dare say the word “forced abdication”—he feared Chunxiang’s sister would faint. The term was too shocking. Yet hundreds of officials gathering at the palace gates—calling it a petition was merely a euphemism; it was forced abdication.

The old emperor had arrested dozens of officials in one go, without even waiting a day—his resolve and cruelty toward officials were plain to see.

Though the court appeared quiet, a greater storm was brewing. The officials’ resentment toward the old emperor was mounting.

The officials now locked in the Heavenly Prison, when mentioning the old emperor, dared not even call him “Your Majesty”—they openly called him “old bastard.”

“Old bastard” every other word—Chen Guanlou couldn’t even bear to listen, let alone report it. He feared being punished by association. If the old emperor heard, he wouldn’t care if you were innocent—he’d just cut you down. That would be true injustice.

He warned all the jailers and head guards—they all reached a silent, unanimous agreement: don’t listen, don’t look, don’t ask. Whoever came, they’d say one thing: “We don’t know.”

This was the way to survive.

“Old bastard”?

Those three words—if anyone admitted hearing or seeing them, they’d be doomed.

Because of those three words, the Jia-cell block had become strangely united—no one would give anyone a chance to fabricate or frame. These were hard-won lessons learned from blood and tears.

After sending Chunxiang’s sister away, he shut the door, took a long, soothing hot bath, and slept soundly.

When he woke, night had fallen.

He ate something light, practiced his sword technique, then his eyelids began to twitch.

Uneasy, he rushed back to the Heavenly Prison before curfew.

Xiao Jin was on night watch.

Seeing Xiao Jin, he asked at once: “What happened?”

“Chief Chen, you’re back? I was just about to send someone to fetch you. The second young master flew into a rage and smashed everything in the cell.”

His expression was heartbroken. Those items had been bought with real gold and silver—all destroyed. All money wasted.

It felt as if someone had stolen his own money—Xiao Jin was both pained and helpless.

Fortunately, Chief Chen had arrived—he was now the anchor.

Chen Guanlou’s heart sank. “What happened? Why did the second young master suddenly lose control?”

“I don’t know!” Xiao Jin looked miserable. “He was fine at dinner. Soon after eating, he just exploded. At first I thought the food was bad, but I tasted the leftovers—the cook had given his all, not a single mistake.”

He couldn’t get any clear answer.

Chen Guanlou went straight to the cell.

The second young master sat scowling on his bed, the floor in ruins. Several jailers stood outside the cell door, too afraid to enter and clean up, each wearing a face of bitter misfortune. When they saw him arrive, they looked like they’d been saved—relieved.

“Chief Chen’s here!”

Everyone relaxed.

The second young master, Song Yuanzheng, slowly lifted his head. “You’re surnamed Chen? From the Pingjiang Marquis’s mansion?”