Yingtian Prefecture's death row.
The days passed like this, one after another, in a murky haze, until he could no longer tell one from the next.
And Jailer Meng was a man of few words. When he brought food, he set it down; when he collected the bowls, he took them away. He never spoke.
Wei Nisheng had asked him twice about what was happening outside.
He had only shaken his head, said nothing, and turned to leave.
There was no third time.
Wei Nisheng knew asking would be useless.
Jailer Meng's silence was not because he did not want to speak, but because he could not.
The rules of death row forbade prisoners from exchanging news with the outside world.
For Jailer Meng to give him a lamp was already an immense kindness. He could not make things harder for him.
So Wei Nisheng stopped asking and simply sat idly in his cell each day.
Occasionally, he rose and paced a few steps, but more often he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and thought.
I wonder how Fu Niang is doing now.
On the day he passed the provincial examination, Feng Yan had told him that Fu Niang was being kept at the Grand Princess's residence.
She could not leave for the time being, but her life was in no danger, so he should not worry.
Though her life was safe, Wei Nisheng knew she must be unhappy.
After all, Fu Niang could never hide what was in her heart.
When she was happy, she laughed; when she was sad, she cried; when she was angry, she puffed out her cheeks. Everything was written on her face.
The Grand Princess had forcibly kept her at the residence. Unable to mourn Wei An or visit him, she must