Jiang Songyi's back slammed into the execution post, and the smell of rust washed over her. In her previous life, when Yue Qingyang had imprisoned her in the dungeon, he had stroked the red mole on her wrist like this: "Songyi, we are a match made in heaven." The memory was like a venomous snake wrapped around her neck. She suddenly raised her knee and drove it into his waist. "If the factory owner is curious, why not go to the underworld and ask him yourself!"
Gu Zheyuan turned away, his black cloak sweeping away the torture instruments: "What a hot temper." He clapped his hands and laughed, but there was ice in his eyes: "In three days, come with us to see the emperor, if we can really catch the Dongling spy." The last words dissipated at the end of the corridor, leaving only the clanging of the iron gate of the imperial prison.
Jiang Songyi rubbed her bruised wrist and sneered. The torch cast her shadow on the corpse, and it seemed as if she were in a past life, being pinched by Yue Qingyang and forced to drink poison. Suddenly, a faint blue will-o'-the-wisp flame erupted from the straw mat, burning the Dongling witch's soul to a crackling sound—it turned out that resentment could be used as lamp oil.
Gu Zheyuan's gilded armor tapped against the rosewood table, and the copper bells on the eaves tinkled in the night breeze. He suddenly leaned forward, and Jiang Songyi caught a whiff of aloeswood incense tinged with the scent of blood on his collar. "Yue Qingyang, the Dongling hostage, is even more slippery than a loach."
Jiang Songyi stared at the candlestick on the table, the flame casting a flickering shadow in Gu Zheyuan's eyes. The Jinyiwei prison was impenetrable, and it was impossible to escape unless someone could. She suddenly remembered the ghost screaming "Yao Zhe" from the beam of the mortuary last night, and blurted out, "Yao Zhe, the godson of the Minister of War. The factory manager might want to check him out."
Gu Zheyuan's armor scratched the cloud pattern embroidered with silver thread on her cuffs: "Benefactor, have you figured out the full name this time?" His tone was playful, but his fingertips dipped in cinnabar wrote down the name on the rice paper.
"It's not calculated." Jiang Songyi brushed away the cinnabar seal on her sleeve and glimpsed a drenched ghostly figure floating outside the window—it was none other than the laundry maid who had drowned the previous night. The ghost pointed at the name Yao Zhe and nodded frantically, her hair dripping with blood.
Gu Zheyuan suddenly chuckled, the gold thread on his dragon robe gleaming coldly in the candlelight. "If anything happens during the Wanshou Festival, this man's head will be in jeopardy." He ran his fingertips across his neck. "It's worth a lot of money."
The peach wood talisman in Jiang Songyi's sleeve glowed faintly. The horrific scene of the massacre in the city after the Fourth Prince ascended the throne in her previous life flashed before her eyes. She clenched her teacup tightly. "If the factory owner can put an end to these two disasters, it will be a great merit."
"Merit?" Gu Zheyuan seemed to have heard a joke, crushing the walnuts on the table with his gilded armor. "If the East Factory Yama Palace wants to accumulate merit, I'm afraid it will have to turn the eighteen levels of hell upside down." The walnut crumbs fell on Jiang Songyi's skirt, just like the ashes of paper money in the mass grave that day.
Jiang Songyi suddenly reached out: "Give me back my money."
Gu Zheyuan raised an eyebrow and hooked the tassel of the purse on her waist with his armor: "Are you going to ask the King of Hell for a debt?"
"Yue Qingyang didn't die." Jiang Songyi pulled back his purse, and the fifty thousand taels of silver rustled in the pocket. "It's the East Factory's rule that if the task fails, the deposit will be refunded."
A ghost suddenly screamed outside the window, and Jiang Songyi saw dozens of shadowy figures appear behind Gu Zheyuan—the souls of those who had died at his hands. The Dongling spy in the foreground, with his bloody mouth agape, was deflected by a flash of golden light.
Gu Zheyuan seemed oblivious and slowly poured a cup of tea. "My benefactor should go to the Imperial Prison to investigate my character." The tea soup was poured onto the blue bricks, sizzling with white smoke. "Money that goes into the East Factory is safer than money that goes into a coffin."
Jiang Songyi laughed out of anger, and the jade bracelet on her wrist tinkled against the table: "Is the factory owner still taking new business?" She caught a glimpse of the ghost of the drowned palace maid suddenly pointing to the west, which was the direction of the Fourth Prince's mansion.
"One hundred thousand taels for Ji Cheng's life." Gu Zheyuan suddenly slammed the Embroidered Spring Knife on the table, the ruby embedded in the scabbard making his eyebrows and eyes redden. "Buy one, get one free, how about a gift for the Fourth Prince?"
Jiang Songyi stared at the resentment wrapped around his armor, the black mist trying to penetrate his seven orifices: "I want to kill Xinyi Zigu."
The teacup in Gu Zheyuan's hand cracked with a crack. When he looked up, a golden light suddenly appeared in his eyes, and the ghost behind him screamed and disappeared. "Murdering the royal heir is a crime punishable by the extermination of nine generations of the clan." But his tone was smiling, as if he was saying that the moonlight tonight was really beautiful.
"One thousand taels." Jiang Songyi slapped the banknote on the blood-stained rice paper. The words "Yao Zhe" were blurred by the blood, resembling the old bloodstains on the walls of the imperial prison.
Gu Zheyuan suddenly clapped his hands and laughed, the golden python on his robe seeming to take off with his movements. "With ten million taels of silver, I can even buy the emperor." His voice stopped abruptly, and his armor lightly scratched his throat. "But as for the Fourth Prince, this amount is enough to buy him seven times."
A sudden gust of wind blew up outside the window, sweeping up gravel and extinguishing the candlelight. In the darkness, Jiang Songyi saw Gu Zheyuan surrounded by a golden glow, and the entangled resentment fled like boiling oil. When the candlelight rekindled, he had regained his cynical demeanor, folding the banknotes into paper boats with his nail-stained fingertips.
"Three days from now, at midnight, benefactor, remember to open the window and accept the gift." He dropped the paper boat into the teacup, the blood gradually soaking through the banknotes. "If you find the human head unlucky, I can make it into a lantern—perfect for the Wanshou Festival."
Jiang Songyi stared at the paper boat bobbing in her teacup, suddenly remembering the day the Fourth Prince ascended the throne in her previous life, when the moat was filled with the corpses of civilians. She stood up, knocking over a stool, startling the ghosts hanging from the beams. "I want the person who is still alive."
"Tsk, my benefactor is so boring." Gu Zheyuan suddenly swung out a flying claw from his sleeve and hooked the purse back from her waist. "This five thousand taels will be the deposit." The gilded armor brushed against her earlobe. "How about exchanging it for your damn secret?"
Jiang Songyi grabbed his wrist with her backhand and felt a chill: "Mr. Factory, why don't you guess how many wronged souls are gnawing at your back right now?" She deliberately lowered her voice and saw with satisfaction that the smile on Gu Zheyuan's lips froze slightly.
The sound of a night watchman came from afar, and Gu Zheyuan suddenly shook off her hand, his python robe rustling in the night wind: "It's three quarters past midnight, my benefactor, remember to close the doors and windows." After saying this, he turned around and left. The python pattern embroidered with gold thread shone coldly in the moonlight, like a real dragon coiled on his back.
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