Feudal Dregs - Chapter 55

Li Ming'an returned on the fifteenth day after his imprisonment.

The butler had been sent to fetch him.

Zhao had been waiting at the gate since early morning, even preparing a basin of fire for purification. The moment Li Ming'an stepped out of the carriage, she took one look at her son—now gaunt and haggard—and her eyes welled with tears.

Li Ming'an was still in a daze. Ever since Li Yuqing had seen him, his mind kept replaying the—words his classmates had pinned all the blame on him. At first, Ming'an refused to believe it. But as the days dragged on in prison, his conviction wavered. He even asked a guard, who, though impatient, still treated him with some courtesy, saying only that he didn't know the details of the interrogation.

The lack of answers was torture.

Ming'an thought perhaps it was because they had endured severe punishment, while he, after all, was the third young master of the Li family. The Li family wouldn't abandon him, so they had pushed the blame onto him. For them, it was a matter of life and death, but for him, it was just a matter of spending a few more days in prison and throwing some money at the problem to resolve it.

This... Ming'an tried to convince himself, this wasn't such a big deal.

But bearing the blame was one thing; having his companions shift all the trouble onto him was another. A burning sense of betrayal gnawed at Ming'an's heart.

On the seventh day, Ming'an was moved to another cell. Shoved into a dimmer, more oppressive room, he was met with the fresh scent of blood in the air.

There, he saw his classmates—all injured, their bodies marked with whip lashes, their faces haggard as they slumped in the corners. The door clanged shut with a deafening noise, jolting them from their stupor. They stared at each other for a long moment before one finally gasped, "...Ming'an?"

Ming'an looked at his classmates, his own emotions surging. Seeing their familiar faces, he hurried over. "Are you all right? You're all here—that's great."

One of them, Zhou Yu, who was closer to Ming'an, struggled to his feet and grabbed Ming'an's arm. "Ming'an, they didn't... do anything to you, did they?" He scrutinized Ming'an from head to toe, but apart from the injuries from the fight that day, Ming'an was unharmed. The others exchanged uneasy glances. When they had been taken away, they had worried about Ming'an's fate, but the relentless interrogations had left them no room to think of anything else. Only when thrown back into their cell did they remember their lone companion and grow concerned.

Then one of them had laughed bitterly and said, "Worrying about Ming'an is pointless—he's the Li family's third young master, after all." Silence had fallen over the cell.

The interrogations had been senseless, deliberate attempts to extract confessions under torture, twisting what had been a simple act of youthful defiance into some sinister conspiracy. They were just pawns, small fish caught in a turbulent pond.

They were ordinary university students, trapped and helpless.

Now, seeing Ming'an completely unscathed, Zhou Yu and the others forced smiles. "Ming'an, it's good that you're all right. That's all that matters."

But beneath their words, resentment simmered.

Ming'an, recalling Li Yuqing's words, keenly sensed the shift in his classmates' moods. A mix of hurt and anger churned inside him. He gripped Zhou Yu's hand. "Zhou Yu..."

Zhou Yu met his gaze, patted his arm, and said nothing.

That night, someone couldn't hold back any longer. "Ming'an... will we be all right?"

Li Ming'an's mind was completely devoid of sleepiness. He pursed his lips and after a while, said, "...Probably."

The other person continued, "We didn't do anything wrong. The school won't abandon us. Besides, Ming'an, your father will come to rescue you, right?"

For some reason, a trace of impatience rose in Li Ming'an's heart. "I don't know," he replied.

"How could you not know?" interjected another voice. "Look at what they've done to us. They let you off while we all acted together." Li Ming'an remained silent.

The first speaker added, "I read the papers recently. Your second brother got promoted—he's the rising star of the Fengtian clique, highly favored in the Beiyang government."

He continued, "When the time comes, don't abandon us."

A bitter taste filled Li Ming'an's mouth. His eldest brother was a shrewd businessman, his second brother now held immense influence—but what about him? Without the Li family, what was Li Ming'an worth?

Filled with resentment yet powerless, Li Ming'an gritted his teeth. "That's their business. It has nothing to do with me."

Just as the other was about to speak again, Zhou Yu interrupted, "We're all classmates and friends here. We stand together. How could Ming'an abandon us?"

An awkward silence fell over the group as they exchanged uncertain glances.

Li Ming'an raised a hand to cover his eyes. In that moment, all his grand ambitions seemed like a joke. Lan Yu had been right—whether it was Li Mingzheng or Li Yuqing, their achievements weren't just because they were born into the Li family. He had merely been lucky to be born into privilege, enjoying silks and delicacies without ever weathering hardship.

Without the Li family, Li Ming'an was nothing.

His thoughts drifted hazily to Lan Yu. In Lan Yu's eyes, he was probably just a child—yet he'd boldly claimed he could help him. Help him? With what right?

He remembered the day the Eighth Concubine was thrown into the well. He'd wanted to save her, but his father's single command had frozen him in place, forcing him to watch helplessly. If Lan Yu ever faced danger, what could he possibly do?

Li Ming'an let out a soundless, bitter laugh.

The following days passed in a daze. Even he was subjected to several interrogation sessions. Li Ming'an was no naive child—from the frequency of these interrogations, he sensed a looming crisis targeting the Li family. The Lis were a prominent clan in Beijing, their silk business dominating the northern markets, and his second brother was now a powerful figure.

Tall trees catch much wind.

Clenching his jaw, Li Ming'an stubbornly maintained his story through every interrogation—they had merely acted on impulse against injustice, and he denied all other accusations. He dismissed his classmates' testimonies as coerced falsehoods, turning the tables by demanding to know who was behind this malicious framing of his family and what their true intentions were. His fierce demeanor and unyielding arrogance faintly reflected the indomitable spirit of the Li family.

Gradually, the cell was divided into clear boundaries—one side belonged to Li Ming'an, the other to his classmates.

On the fifteenth day, a prison guard opened the cell door and called Li Ming'an's name. Li Ming'an lifted his eyes, glanced at the man, then stood and walked out. Just before stepping through the door, he turned back to look at his classmates. They all sat up straight, staring fixedly at him.

Li Ming'an pressed his dry lips together, turned, and left without another word.

His glasses had been broken, and for half a month, he had gone without them. From a distance, he squinted slightly at Madam Zhao, who hurried over and tightly grasped his hand, her voice trembling. "Ming'an."

A few strands of white hair had appeared at her temples.

Li Ming'an's nose stung, and he whispered, "Mother..." He forced a smile. "I'm fine."

Tears spilled from Madam Zhao's eyes. "You've lost weight. You look so worn out."

She reached up to touch the faint scar on his cheek—left behind during the street brawl, where a shard of stone had grazed him, drawing blood. As she wept, Li Ming'an's heart ached. He wanted to wipe her tears with a handkerchief, but having just come out of prison, he had nothing on him. Instead, he clumsily brushed her cheek with his fingers. "Mother, don't cry. I'm really fine."

Madam Zhao nodded repeatedly. "It's enough that you're back... It's enough that you're back."

She pulled him toward a basin of burning coals, insisting he step over it to ward off bad luck. "Cross the fire, and from now on, our Ming'an will be free from calamity, safe and sound."

Helpless, Li Ming'an obeyed, stepping over the flames.

Arm in arm, mother and son made their way home. Madam Zhao said, "First, go bathe and change your clothes. Then, go see your father." Li Ming'an didn't argue, simply agreeing. Madam Zhao rambled on, "I had the kitchen prepare all your favorite dishes. You must have suffered in that prison..." Her voice choked up again.

Li Ming'an softly called out, "Mother."

Madam Zhao wiped her eyes. "No more tears. Today is a good day. I shouldn't cry."

As they spoke, Li Ming'an patted his mother's frail shoulder. Suddenly, he sensed something and looked up—just in time to see Lan Yu passing through the corridor. He froze, and their eyes met.

Lan Yu looked at Li Ming'an. Li Ming'an looked back.

Lan Yu gave him a slight nod. Instinctively, Li Ming'an stiffened, lips parting as if to speak. But Lan Yu had already walked away. Li Ming'an stared blankly at his retreating figure until a tug at his sleeve brought him back. Madam Zhao was watching him, her expression complicated, as if she wanted to say something but didn't know where to begin.

Li Ming'an felt uneasy and mumbled, "Mother, let's go back."

Madam Zhao gazed deeply in the direction Lan Yu had gone before turning back to her son with a faint smile. "Alright."

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