Shadow Love (Yu Jin Chang An)

The gates of the capital were indeed locked down, enforcing a ten-day curfew during which no one was allowed to enter or leave. The Western Rong envoy was placed under house arrest, delaying his scheduled departure.

The envoy repeatedly requested permission to leave, but each plea was suppressed, vanishing without a trace like a stone sinking into the sea.

With the envoy’s prolonged absence, tensions beyond the frontier escalated rapidly. Western Rong amassed a large army, and the war that had been avoided the previous winter seemed poised to erupt as summer approached.

As external pressures mounted and no trace of Jin An could be found within the capital, Sima Yang finally ordered the city gates opened, allowing the Western Rong envoy to depart.

However, from the moment the envoy left the capital, he was surrounded by Jin soldiers, under strict surveillance to ensure he could not take an extra person with him.

Li Shuang was summoned to the council chamber countless times, each interrogation conducted by trusted aides of the Prime Minister.

The current Prime Minister, Ji He, had once been the uncle of the Third Prince. During Sima Yang’s time as Crown Prince, Ji He had thrown his full support behind the Third Prince’s bid for the throne. Yet, after Sima Yang ascended to the throne and the Third Prince was confined to the northern mountains to guard the imperial tombs, Ji He remained in power due to his deeply entrenched influence in the court.

However, it was clear to all that Ji He’s survival was less due to his own efforts and more because Sima Yang had temporarily spared him.

Sima Yang was now the sovereign, propped up by the Grand General. His empress and the forces behind him relied heavily on the Grand General’s support. Some even dared to whisper behind his back, dubbing the Grand General the "General King," a title that nearly overshadowed the emperor’s own prestige.

Sima Yang needed a counterbalance to the Grand General’s power.

Only by maintaining this tug-of-war in court could Sima Yang find the opportunity to cultivate his own true influence. How long Ji He would remain in his position depended entirely on Sima Yang’s political maneuvering.

Ji He’s usefulness to Sima Yang became evident during Li Shuang’s interrogations.

Ji He’s trusted aides subjected her to relentless questioning for days on end—what the man looked like, when she had last seen him, who else he knew.

Li Shuang was no stranger to such high-pressure interrogations, having often overseen similar tactics used by her own subordinates. Her answers were a mix of truth and lies, seamlessly consistent, leaving no room for anyone to find fault.

According to her, she was merely a general who had saved a stranger out of gratitude.

She claimed not to know who he was, where he came from, or why she was being interrogated about him. All she knew was his appearance and his strength.

The Grand General, too, remained silent about Li Shuang’s interrogations, not lifting a finger to intervene, leaving Ji He with no grounds to accuse him of misconduct.

Half a month passed, and the matter of Jin An seemed to fade into obscurity. But one morning, during court, Prime Minister Ji He suddenly accused the Grand General of colluding with the enemy, citing the discovery of an underground chamber in the White Temple south of the city.

The chamber showed signs of recent habitation, and it was the very temple where Li Shuang had lived before entering the General’s household as a child.

The monks of the White Temple were subjected to brutal interrogations—methods too harsh to use on Li Shuang were instead inflicted upon them. Eventually, one monk, unable to endure the torture, confessed that someone had indeed stayed there recently. The monk claimed the man had told him the Grand General had arranged his stay and ordered the temple’s monks to keep it secret.Li Shuang knew at once that this was a forced confession.

First, the incident was not orchestrated by the Grand General—it had nothing to do with her father. Second, although her interactions with Jin An after he regained his memories had been brief, she knew he wasn’t foolish. Why would he reveal his origins to monks? He wouldn’t even let them notice his presence.

Someone must have been coerced or bribed into giving false testimony, claiming to have seen Jin An and alleging the Grand General’s involvement.

Though the testimony was fabricated, it contained a grain of truth, plunging the General’s estate into dire straits.

At this point, Li Shuang could no longer remain silent. “I sent him there,” she admitted for the first time to her interrogators. “I knew he was a prince of the Western Rong. I knew the Azure Dragon Guards were coming for him. I told him to go. The General’s estate suffered because of me, and my father was kept completely in the dark.”

The interrogator, a trusted aide of the Prime Minister, immediately brightened. “General Li, this is a grave matter. Do not shoulder blame for the Grand General by taking responsibility yourself.”

“I’m not taking blame—this was my doing. My father hasn’t been to the northern frontier in years and knows no one from the Western Rong. I traveled from the frontier to the southern capital to rescue him. After bringing him to the capital, I learned his identity, and it was I who decided to let him go.”

Li Shuang spoke calmly, but the implications of her words left the scribe frozen in place.

The Emperor’s feelings for Li Shuang were now common knowledge in the court, and her confession directly contradicted his stance.

“General Li,” the Prime Minister’s aide said darkly, “why would you aid someone from an enemy nation?”

“The Western Rong has signed a peace treaty with our Great Jin and is no longer an enemy. Watch your words, colleague. As for why I saved him…” Li Shuang lowered her gaze. “Because he saved me. I owed him much.”

“Your actions seem to have gone far beyond mere repayment,” the man said with a faint smirk. “What is your connection to him? Care to elaborate?”

Li Shuang raised her eyes and fixed him with a stare. “I’ve said all I needed to. The rest is none of your concern.”

Unfazed, the man stood, took his documents, and left. “Then I shall report it as such. If others come to question you later, I hope you won’t evade their inquiries.”

The report made its way up the chain of command and into Sima Yang’s hands. Li Shuang didn’t know what manipulations the Prime Minister’s faction might have added, but the next day, she was imprisoned.

In the inner court’s dungeon, Li Shuang was given the largest cell. Compared to the hardships of military campaigns, aside from the damp and darkness, it wasn’t so bad. She endured it calmly.

No one from the General’s estate came to see her—not even Li Ting. Li Shuang understood. The estate was now under intense scrutiny, and the slightest misstep could bring disaster. The only recourse was to distance themselves from her and pin all blame on her. Whether this was her father’s intention or not, for the sake of the estate, it had to be done.

In the end, whether it was Li Shuang or the Grand General, they were still subjects. Her surrender of authority and the Grand General’s concessions were all to reassure the reigning sovereign.Li Shuang had been in the prison for some time, and even in the dungeon, she could sense the weather outside gradually growing hotter.

The cabinet had yet to determine the nature of Li Shuang's actions. By the time the heat brought mosquitoes into the prison, a familiar face finally came to see her in the dungeon.

Seeing Qin Lan, Li Shuang showed no emotion, but Qin Lan knelt halfway before her cell: "General."

Li Shuang sighed. "My rank has been stripped. Call me by my name."

"...General, why would you go so far for one person..."

"Qin Lan, you've asked me this many times," Li Shuang said. "You know why."

Qin Lan clenched his teeth and fell silent. The cell grew quiet for a long while before he finally spoke: "I was the one who reported my suspicions to His Majesty."

"I know." Her simple reply struck Qin Lan like a heavy slap. He lowered his head, not daring to meet her eyes, but then heard Li Shuang say, "If we could keep the future crown prince of Xirong as a hostage, he would be the greatest guarantee for the peace treaty between Jin and Xirong for a long time. What you did was good for our Jin. I was the one who made the mistake."

From the emperor's perspective, from Jin's perspective, even from Li Shuang's own past perspective, she truly deserved to be in this prison. She felt no grievance, so from the moment she was imprisoned, she had offered no defense for her actions.

But Qin Lan's expression grew increasingly strained, as if the veins on his forehead were about to burst. "No! It wasn't loyalty to the throne or love for the country!" His voice was low, filled with turmoil and hatred—hatred for Jin An, who had fled far away, and hatred for himself. "I was just jealous! General, I was just jealous. I—" Even in this outburst, he still bit back his words.

The long-suppressed love was compressed and piled up once more, exploding in his chest, yet he still couldn't bring himself to confess it to Li Shuang.

Li Shuang only watched his struggle, understanding his meaning but unable to do anything about it.

At first, there might have only been their statuses between them, but now there was a heart's distance.

"Qin Lan," Li Shuang said calmly. "I am no longer a general. Now I'm just a prisoner. I no longer need a personal guard, nor do I have the right to one. After today, hand over the insignia of the guard captain to my father. With your abilities, you shouldn't stop here."

Qin Lan finally looked up at Li Shuang, but her eyes were calm, her expression unchanged, as if she had merely issued an ordinary command—ordering soldiers to train, troops to prepare, or him to stay by her side day after day.

But this time, she was telling him to leave.

"Take care of yourself from now on."

Qin Lan's eyes suddenly went blank. He knew Li Shuang too well, so he knew she meant it—she no longer needed a personal guard, nor did she need him.

The air in the cell seemed dead. Qin Lan's back stiffened like withered stone. He bowed deeply, the sound of his spine creaking as if it might snap. "Understood."

He stood up, as if his soul had been taken from him, and drifted away.

"Qin Lan." Li Shuang suddenly called out to him. A tiny spark flickered in Qin Lan's eyes as he turned slightly, only to hear her ask, "Is there... any news of him?"The last flame flickered out as he whispered, "I heard some martial sects are aiding him, though I don't know where they've gone now. There's been no news of his return from the Western Rong yet."

"Oh." Li Shuang nodded. "Thank you."

"General—" Qin Lan paused, then corrected himself, "Miss, please stay calm in the cell for a few more days. The Grand General will surely find a way to secure your release."

"Mmm."

Qin Lan turned and walked step by step out of the inner prison, each step taking him farther from Li Shuang's breathing.

The path ahead seemed shrouded in impenetrable darkness. He only knew he must move forward—because that was what Li Shuang wished—but where to go, how to proceed, where the next step should fall...

In that moment, it all seemed to have become an unsolvable riddle.

Only after Qin Lan's figure had completely disappeared from the inner prison did Li Shuang let out a soft sigh. Over a decade had passed since she first met Qin Lan, yet memories of those days remained vivid. She closed her eyes and rested for a while.

One comforting thought was Qin Lan's mention of martial sects aiding Jin An. Without doubt, it must be the Five Spirits Sect.

If Jin An were traveling alone from the capital to the Great Jin frontier, the journey would be fraught with difficulties—first because his striking appearance made him easily recognizable, and second because Li Shuang worried the silver she'd left in that underground chamber beneath the White Temple might not be enough to see him safely out of Great Jin.

But with the Five Spirits Sect involved, and someone as shrewd as Wu Yin in charge, Jin An would certainly not suffer any disadvantage.

Leaning against the cell wall, Li Shuang pondered these matters until she drifted into a hazy sleep that lasted until afternoon. As the sun set, shadows flickered outside the dungeon. Glancing up, she saw someone dressed in a prison guard's uniform approaching with food.

The guards who usually delivered her meals were always polite, addressing her respectfully as "Miss" before properly placing the food by her cell door.

Today's guard didn't call out to her.

Assuming he hadn't wanted to disturb her nap, Li Shuang initiated conversation: "What's on the menu today?" Having been imprisoned so long with few opportunities for conversation, even chatting with a guard helped pass the time.

"Ah... oh... greens, rice, and some meat."

Li Shuang raised an eyebrow. "Meat? I'll have to savor that properly." After so long in the dungeon, she hadn't tasted meat in ages.

At dawn the next morning, shocking news spread from the inner prison, sending tremors through the imperial court: The Grand General's daughter, former commander of the Changfeng Battalion, Li Shuang, had suddenly died of illness in the inner prison. When the Grand General received this news during court, he suffered a violent surge of anger that aggravated old ailments, forcing him to immediately retire from the morning session to recuperate at home.

Li Shuang had always been the Grand General's pride—a woman who fought for her country on battlefields so brutal they would daunt most men. Yet now she had met her end with a sudden death in prison.

For five consecutive days, the Grand General claimed illness and absented himself from court. The atmosphere between the Emperor and the Grand General's residence grew palpably tense.

The entire capital fell into solemn silence.

Meanwhile, news of Li Shuang's death spread as if on wings—from the capital, carried by commoners' whispers, floating like willow catkins in the wind, scattering across a thousand miles.