Chapter 4

The cold wind was still howling at the window. William Sullivan rolled his eyes, staring at the wall in the darkness, not daring to close his eyes again.

The next morning was slightly chilly, and William Sullivan was brought back into the main hall. Outside, the wind and snow raged. The interrogator who had faced him with a cold expression in previous days now wore a broad smile, holding tea in both hands, waiting respectfully by the side of the grand master's chair.

Seated above was an old eunuch with a pale, beardless face, wearing a crane-feathered winter hat and a robe embroidered with a gourd insignia. His outer cloak had not yet been removed, and he was holding a delicate gold-and-jade plum blossom hand warmer, resting and conserving his energy. Hearing the commotion, he finally opened his eyes and looked at William Sullivan.

“Godfather,” said Ryan Carter, who had been interrogating by imperial order these past days, bowing low, “this is the remnant of Prince Jianxing, Shen Wei.”

Edward Foster looked at William Sullivan and said, “How did he end up like this?”

Ryan Carter knew that Edward Foster was not asking why William Sullivan was filthy and foul-smelling, but rather why nothing substantial had been extracted from him so far.

Sweat beaded at Ryan Carter’s temples, but he dared not wipe it away. Maintaining his bowed posture, he said, “The boy is ignorant and muddle-headed. Ever since he was brought back from Zhongbo, he’s been in a daze. We don’t know who might have influenced him, but he refuses to confess.”

“The Emperor wants this high-profile criminal,” Edward Foster did not take the tea, “A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old child, thrown into the infamous imperial prison, personally interrogated by you, Lord Ji, and yet you still haven’t produced a single confession.”

Ryan Carter held the tea, forcing a bitter smile. “Precisely because he’s a high-profile criminal, I dare not use torture without permission. He was already suffering from a cold when he arrived. If he were to die from mishandling, the Shen Wei case would become a cold case.”

Edward Foster scrutinized William Sullivan for a while and said, “We are all dogs at our master’s feet. If our teeth aren’t sharp enough, there’s no use keeping us. I know you have difficulties, but this is your duty. Now the Emperor wants to see him, which is already showing leniency to you Jinyiwei. How can you still complain?”

Ryan Carter hurriedly kowtowed and said, “Godfather, you are absolutely right. Your son is taught.”

Edward Foster gave a nasal “hmm” and said, “Clean him up. In such a filthy state, how can he appear before the Emperor?”

William Sullivan was taken away by attendants to be washed. The wounds on his legs were simply bandaged, and he was dressed in clean cotton clothes. He was at the mercy of others, his movements difficult, and it took some effort to get him onto the carriage.

Edward Foster finally accepted the tea from Ryan Carter, staring at William Sullivan’s departing figure. “Is this really a remnant of the Shen clan?”

Ryan Carter said, “He is. He’s the only survivor from the Chashi sinkhole, personally captured by the Northern Heir Young Master Bennett, and kept in the Northern Cavalry’s prison cart the whole time, never letting anyone else near him.”

Edward Foster sipped the cold tea, and after a while, gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Young Master Bennett is a cautious man.”

* * *

William Sullivan got off the carriage and was escorted by the Jinyiwei along a long road. Goose-feather snowflakes blew into his face. The eunuchs leading the way all walked briskly, saying nothing unnecessary.

When Edward Foster arrived at the Hall of Reason, the young eunuch waiting under the eaves immediately came forward, first helping Edward Foster remove his cloak, then putting on his face cover, and finally taking the hand warmer from Edward Foster. Inside, the announcement had already been made. Edward Foster knelt by the door and said, “Your Majesty, this servant has brought the person.”

After half a moment, a low, slow voice came from inside: “Bring him in.”

William Sullivan’s breath caught as he was brought inside. Incense was burning within, but the air was not stifling. He heard a few intermittent coughs, and out of the corner of his eye, glimpsed feet on both sides of the hall.

Abraham Lincoln wore a slate-blue Daoist robe, his back so thin that his bones showed. His body was frail, plagued by illness throughout the three years since his ascension. Now, sitting in the chair, his long, narrow face looked especially refined and delicate due to his lack of color.

“Ryan Carter has interrogated for several days,” Abraham Lincoln glanced at Ryan Carter, who was kneeling behind, “Have you gotten to the bottom of it?”

Ryan Carter kowtowed and said, “Reporting to Your Majesty, this boy’s words are incoherent and full of holes. Everything he’s confessed these past days is riddled with contradictions and cannot be trusted.”

Abraham Lincoln said, “Present his confessions.”

Ryan Carter took out the neatly prepared confession from his robe and handed it to Edward Foster with both hands. Edward Foster quickly stepped forward and respectfully presented it to Abraham Lincoln.

Abraham Lincoln read through it, and when he reached the part about the Chashi sinkhole, he covered his mouth and coughed. He refused Edward Foster’s help, wiping the blood from his lips with his own handkerchief, and said in a deep voice, “Thirty thousand soldiers perished in the sinkhole. If Shen Wei does not die, both gods and men will be outraged!”

William Sullivan closed his eyes, his heart pounding rapidly. Sure enough, the next moment he heard Abraham Lincoln speak.

“Raise your head!”

William Sullivan’s breathing quickened, his palm on the ground icy cold. He slowly raised his head, his gaze cautiously falling on Abraham Lincoln’s boots.

Abraham Lincoln looked at him and asked, “You are Shen Wei’s son, and the only survivor from the Chashi sinkhole. Do you have anything to confess?”

William Sullivan’s eyes gradually reddened. He trembled slightly, sobbing but saying nothing.

Abraham Lincoln’s expression did not change. “Answer me!”

William Sullivan suddenly looked up, tears already streaming down his face, dripping down his cheeks. He only looked up for a moment before forcefully knocking his forehead to the ground, his shoulders and arms shaking, a choking sound rising from his throat.

“Your Majesty... Your Majesty! My father’s heart was for the country. After his defeat, he was ashamed before the nation and could not face the people of Zhongbo, so he set himself on fire to atone for his guilt!”

Abraham Lincoln rebuked, “Nonsense! If he truly cared for the country, why did he keep retreating?”