Chapter 139: Committed the Error of Empiricism

They waited from dawn until dusk, and then from dusk until the next morning.

The food was plentiful and did not leave them hungry, but they could not step outside the flower pavilion even once, and even when using the latrine, someone followed them. The rules were so strict they were astonishing.

He muttered to the prison clerk, "We're just two insignificant people—why would the Prince's Mansion care so much?"

This level of treatment is too high. Too high to be terrifying!

The prison clerk was dazed, unable to focus, jumping at every sound—he looked plainly unwell, as if traumatized.

"My lord, are you alright?"

The prison clerk shook his head, then nodded. "Little Chen, are we going to die?"

"No. My lord, don't let your imagination run wild."

"I don't want to die."

"Nobody wants to die."

"I haven't saved enough money, haven't lived well yet—I can't die."

"You won't die."

"If I die, make sure my body is sent back home and buried in the ancestral tomb. I don't want to become a wandering ghost with no descendants to burn incense for me on holidays. I've suffered enough in life—I don't want to keep suffering below."

Chen Guanlou: …

He could only silently stay with him, listening. He truly hadn't expected the prison clerk's mental resilience to be so low. The prison chief's move was brilliant—he shattered the prison clerk's spirit outright. From now on, the prison clerk would never dare cause trouble again, forever trapped in the prison chief's palm.

Palace intrigue—brilliant, truly brilliant.

At this moment, he finally understood the prison chief's intent.

The prison chief had no intention of killing them, but neither did he intend to let the prison clerk go. He himself was dragged into the mess too. The prison chief must blame him for failing in his duties, causing such a huge disturbance and nearly getting everyone beheaded.

The minute-by-minute torment was excruciating, his inner anxiety unbearable.

As the sun rose higher, the door to the flower pavilion finally opened from outside.

A servant appeared, carrying no food or drink—Chen Guanlou instantly felt hope rise.

"You two may leave."

"Is it over? Can we really go?" Chen Guanlou was uneasy, fearing they were being mocked.

The servant raised his eyebrows slightly and said coldly, "Please go. Eunuch Ping has ordered me to escort you out of the Prince's Mansion. He also said to take good care of the Second Young Master and not let anything happen again. If it happens once more, things won't end so easily."

Chen Guanlou froze, mouth agape, unable to speak a word.

The prison clerk was even more bewildered, secretly tugging Chen Guanlou's sleeve, urging him to decide.

Chen Guanlou couldn't figure it out—he'd read the Second Young Master's letter, looked at it sideways, upside down, skipping lines—there was nothing about poisoning. The Tianlao Temple had sealed all news. How had Eunuch Ping learned of the Second Young Master's plight?

Eliminating all other possibilities, the letter must contain hidden metaphors he couldn't understand—only Eunuch Ping of the Prince's Mansion could decipher them.

He let out a bitter laugh. He'd been so careful, yet still fell into the trap—nearly lost his life. The Second Young Master wasn't kind at all. He'd committed the error of empiricism, thinking the upper echelons were far simpler than they were.

He'd never truly interacted with them—accurately speaking, he didn't understand the real upper class at all. His so-called experience came only from watching TV dramas, novels, and online snippets in his past life—fragmented, unreliable, and often untrue, with no way to tell truth from falsehood.

The Grand Lord's generosity had made him unconsciously assume the upper class were simple.

How foolish!

Fortunately, Heaven favored him—Eunuch Ping had no intention of killing him.

Thank heaven and earth!

If Eunuch Ping had wanted him dead, his current strength would have made escape impossible. Eunuch Ping alone was unfathomably powerful; the Prince's Mansion surely harbored other formidable martial experts.

He gritted his teeth, swallowed the bitterness, and memorized this lesson.

He bowed to the servant. "Thank you for the warning—I will take good care of the Second Young Master and ensure nothing happens to him."

The servant grunted, gestured for them to follow, and escorted them out of the Prince's Mansion.

Thud!

The Prince's Mansion's side gate slammed shut.

That sound, at this moment, was beautiful, enchanting.

For the first time, he realized a closing door could sound so pleasing, so refreshing.

"We're out. We're alive."

The prison clerk danced with joy, his spirit fully revived, his eyes gleaming again—not the listless, near-dead man he'd been before.

He laughed heartily, ignoring the stares and whispers of passersby, utterly unconcerned with his appearance.

Chen Guanlou hailed a carriage, dragged the ecstatic, nearly hysterical prison clerk inside, and set off for Tianlao Temple—to report to the prison chief first.

The prison chief was visibly surprised to see them standing before him, unharmed. Though he quickly masked his emotion, Chen Guanlou still saw it.

So the prison chief had been certain they'd die?

The prison chief exclaimed repeatedly, "You're back, you're back! Last night, when you didn't return, I was terrified—I thought you were gone. Thank heaven and earth, you're alive! Heaven has mercy!"

"Uncle, did you think we were dead?" The prison clerk, now overexcited, blurted out everything, completely unlike his usual composed self.

The prison chief sighed. "When you didn't return last night, I thought… I've been regretting sending you two to the Prince's Mansion. But thank goodness, I was just overthinking. You weren't mistreated there, were you?"

"Uncle, I nearly died of fright! We were locked in that flower pavilion the whole time, couldn't go anywhere—not even to the latrine without someone following. Uncle, I thought I'd never see you again… waaah…" At this, the prison clerk, overcome with emotion, finally broke down after two days of suppressed tears.

The prison chief felt pity—but only for a second. Then he grew disgusted. He scowled and snapped, "This is a yamen! Who are you putting on this show for? Shut up. And in the yamen, you address me as 'My Lord.' Understood?"

"Uncle!?" The prison clerk looked pitiful.

"Shut up!" The prison chief's last shred of patience was gone, replaced only by disdain. "Get out, get out. Judging by your state, you're useless. Go rest for two days before returning to duty. I have words with Little Chen."

"Thank you, Uncle—I'll go now." The prison clerk cried and laughed at once, absurdly dramatic. Worse, his crying face was ugly and irritating.

As soon as the prison clerk left, the prison chief beckoned Chen Guanlou closer.

"Did things go smoothly? Did the Prince's Mansion say anything? Why did it take so long?"

"My lord, things went mostly well. We arrived yesterday and met Eunuch Ping by noon. Since the Prince might summon us, we were kept waiting until this noon."

"Ah, I see. I knew the Prince's Mansion wouldn't trouble us minor folk—it wouldn't be worth it, right? Did the Prince summon you?"

"No."

"Did Eunuch Ping say anything else?"

"He only told us to take good care of the Second Young Master. Nothing else."

The prison chief looked disappointed, yet also relieved. "Good. That's good!"

They'd finally passed this trial.