Chapter 488: Dead Rat

The jailer carried a food bucket over, knocked on the cell door, and woke Pan Hong, who had been sitting on the bed staring blankly: "Time to eat."

Pan Hong got up and walked over, leaning in to take a look: "Gruel?"

The jailer replied, "It's been cold these past two days, so we boiled gruel."

Pan Hong felt himself, then shook his head: "Locked in this imperial prison, I've lost track of cold and heat, of time—alas~ Is it very cold outside?"

The jailer: "This is the last cold snap of spring."

The jailer shoved two steamed buns into his hand, then carried the bucket to the next cell.

The gruel was freshly made—not only fresh, but scalding hot, fragrant and rich.

As Pan Hong carried the bowl toward the table, he couldn't resist lowering his head to take a sip of the broth.

His lips had barely touched the soup when it seared him with pain—he immediately jerked his head up, the motion sudden, and the peace talisman pressed against his chest suddenly grew hot; he hissed, his hand trembled, and the gruel splashed out, scalding his wrist.

Pan Hong, usually so stoic, instinctively loosened his grip—the bowl clattered to the floor and shattered.

Pan Hong cried, "Oh no!" and circled the spilled gruel in dismay; seeing the jailer approach, he hurriedly said, "Officer, I broke my bowl—can I have another?"

The jailer snapped, "All distributed—gone. Shoo, shoo, wait for the next round."

He muttered, "Pigs can't eat fine bran—if your family hadn't bribed us, you wouldn't even get this gruel…"

Pan Hong also felt deep regret.

Before being imprisoned, he had been in Datong; though his daughter supported him and they weren't short on money, Pan Hong dared not flaunt his wealth.

So at home, except during festivals, they never ate pure white-flour gruel.

Looking at the scattered noodle bits on the floor, Pan Hong longed to reach down and pick them up to eat.

While hesitating, rats drawn by the smell scurried over.

Pan Hong turned his head and saw them chittering excitedly.

Pan Hong sighed, picked up his two cold buns, turned, and sat back on the bed, yielding the space to the rats.

"Never mind, never mind—it's not wasted. Though I can't eat it, at least the rats are fed."

Pan Hong bit into a cold bun, stared at the still-steaming gruel bits, and felt even sadder.

The rats, seeing he had moved aside, immediately pounced, gnawing the gruel, chittering happily.

Having eaten something, though not as he wished, Pan Hong's mood slowly lifted.

Both man and rats were happy—Pan Hong smiled as he watched the lively rats—his lips had barely curved halfway when the rat devouring below suddenly let out a piercing shriek, collapsed, convulsed, and soon lay stiff and still.

The other rats startled, scattering in panic—but two had barely turned when they dropped, convulsed twice, then went rigid; one more struggled to crawl into the corner before collapsing motionless.

The last and smallest rat vanished swiftly from Pan Hong's sight.

Pan Hong's smile froze; the next instant he realized—he hurled his bun away and jammed his fingers down his throat.

Pan Hong forced out the bun he had just swallowed.

Yin Song burst in with Pan Yue and Pan Yu—what they saw was Pan Hong half-bent over the bed, vomiting violently, nearly spewing bile.

Pan Yue gasped, slammed his hand against the cell door, and shouted: "Father—"

Pan Yu rushed to shake the heavy cell door, rattling it violently: "Father, we've come to save you!"

Seeing them ready to tear the door off its hinges, Yin Song grabbed both boys and turned to yell at the jailer: "What are you standing there for? A key prisoner has been murdered—do you want to die for this? Open the door, now!" The jailer snapped to attention, rushed forward, pulled Pan Yu away, and unlocked the door.

The moment the door opened, the two brothers rushed in—one gripped Pan Hong and pressed hard on his abdomen, the other slammed his iron palm repeatedly against his back: "Father, did you eat something poisoned?"

Pan Hong felt he'd vomited enough and tried to speak—but one son squeezed his belly, the other pounded his back; his words dissolved before they could form.

Seeing him barely holding together under their assault, Yin Song stepped forward to intervene: "Let me—let me…"

Pan Yue regained his senses and immediately pulled back: "Right, right—Second Brother, you know medicine."

He yanked his father's wrist toward Yin Song and stared at him pleadingly: "Second Brother—can you save Father?"

Yin Song placed his fingers on Pan Hong's pulse, lifted his face to examine it closely, checked his lips and tongue, then frowned: "This doesn't look like poisoning…"

Pan Yu cried: "Second Brother, the rats ate the leftovers and died—how isn't this poison?"

Pan Hong pushed his sons' hands aside and sat up weakly: "I didn't eat it!"

He explained: "I only ate two bites of bun—I'm not poisoned. The poison must have been only in the gruel."

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Yin Song broke open a bun, sniffed it, tasted it, then sighed in relief: "The buns aren't poisoned."

Pan Yue and Pan Yu both exhaled sharply, hugged Pan Hong, and burst into tears: "Father, you scared us to death!"

Pan Hong: "You nearly beat me to death!"

The jailer beside them, relieved to see Pan Hong unharmed, also sighed—then his breath caught as Yin Song asked: "Who served food today? Who made the gruel?"

Jailor A's face turned ashen—he spun and ran—but no sooner had he stepped out than a commotion erupted outside: "The cook, Liu Dafang, has hanged himself!"

Yin Song didn't move out—he grabbed Pan Yu, who was trying to rush out, and said grimly: "From now on, you two stay with your father. I'll go find someone."

Pan Yue: "Find who?"

"The Grand Secretariat, the Three Departments," Yin Song said, eyes lowered: "The Southern and Northern Commanderies, Wang Zhen."

Pan Yu's voice rose shrilly: "Wang Zhen? Why him?"

Yin Song: "Only Wang Zhen can save your father's life now."

Pan Yu snarled: "Maybe he's the one who poisoned him—why go to him?"

Pan Yue narrowed his eyes: "Second Brother thinks it wasn't Wang Zhen?"

"I don't know," Yin Song said. "But if this fails, someone else will strike again. Better to pin it on Wang Zhen—let him protect Lord Pan."

He added: "This is the imperial prison. He's just regained the Emperor's favor. If he didn't do it, he can block these ghostly tricks."

Pan Yue: "How do we know he didn't do it?"

"We don't need to know. Just make him understand—if Lord Pan dies, he won't survive either."

Pan Yue frowned, skeptical: "Can you threaten him?"

Yin Song shook his head: "I can't threaten him, but your sister can."

"Huh?" The two brothers looked puzzled, but Pan Yue quickly realized: "Did Little Sister set something up before she left?"

Yin Song smiled but did not answer, letting the two keep watch over Pan Hong, while he wrapped the dead rat's tail in a handkerchief and carried it toward the imperial palace. (End of chapter)