Sitting in a cangue was exhausting enough, but spending the night in one was pure torture. Sure, at night they led them off the square, back to the local jail. But no one bothered to take off the wooden yoke. No soft bed awaited, and there was certainly no food provided. As far as Viktor could tell, this was part of the social aspect of the punishment—if there was anyone in the community who held no grudge against you and was even willing to come feed and water you, then you'd be fine. Otherwise… well, you wouldn't last a month locked in that thing. You wouldn't even last a week. You'd die of thirst.
He had no idea what season it was; days on the square were scorching hot, nights in the cell freezing cold. His body fought as hard as it could, but it needed water and food to survive.
Finding himself in a foreign body—worse, a girl's body—wasn't something Viktor could change, but that was far from his biggest problem. No, his main issue was that damned chunk of wood around his neck: it felt like it weighed a ton, pressing down, constantly chafing his skin raw, making his already sore shoulders and back throb all the more.
As it turned out, Elder Brother Ishi, the fearless leader of their gang and a petty thief, had blown a lot of hot air about how, "They'll feed and water us, just stick with me and we'll get through this." No one came for him. On the second day, Ishi grew gloomy and announced that maybe his brothers had all died in a fight. By then, Viktor had realized Ishi was not to be trusted—he'd say anything for dramatic effect, never mind the truth. In one story, his mother was a noble lady, mistress of the Seven Arts and on the run from clan persecution; in another, she was a singer who died of consumption, leaving him to the neighbors.
Elder Brother Ishi's tongue always ran faster than his brain. Want an example? Here's one—the guard, Chan, who didn't turn out as harsh as expected. After Viktor fainted in the square, Chan had actually wiped his forehead with a wet cloth and given him a sip of water. When Viktor asked, the same guard calmly read what was written on his cangue: nothing was faded after all, Elder Brother Ishi simply couldn't read.
And what did the wooden board say? "Disrespect to the Magistrate." Just that. Turns out you could even get sentenced to death for something like that.
"What kind of death sentence is this?" Elder Brother Ishi could barely move his parched tongue on the third day of their watch on the square. "Just the cangue. I've got plenty of friends who've been through it." Viktor didn't even bother replying, saving his strength. The slender girl's body he now inhabited craved water desperately, but by the third day, even thirst felt distant, unnecessary, uninteresting. Once again, he was dying.
He wondered vaguely: what if he was still lying on the floor in some hospital, and all this was just his dying brain spinning stories—one last hallucination before death? There was that old short story about a man who was hanged for sabotage during the civil war—the rope snapped, he escaped, ran, hid in the woods, finally reached home and just as he crossed the threshold, it turned out he'd never escaped, and was in fact swinging from the noose, tongue out, eyes bulging.
"They'll let us go, you'll see," Elder Brother muttered weakly. "Guard Chan, may Heaven's Chariot grant him long years and may his ancestors be proud—he gave us a drink, didn't he? That means they don't want us dead here."
Once again, Viktor said nothing. Shaggy Ishi believed whatever he wanted. The average daily water intake for an adult is about one and a half to two liters. Sure, you could survive on less for a few days, using up the reserves in your body, but eventually, you had to make it up. Here? Two greedy gulps from the guard's flask—evaporated from his mouth in an instant—probably didn't amount to even two hundred milliliters. Was the guard truly pitying them, or did he just want to prolong their suffering? All day, they weren't just in the shade—they were in the center of the square, under the blazing sun. At least the kids had stopped throwing stones at them recently, so small mercies. On the other hand, if some young sharpshooter landed a rock right in his temple, it would be an end to all these sufferings—welcome the long dark sleep to the end of time.
With no food or water, he hardly had the strength to move. He'd long since stopped noticing the ache throughout his body. Once or twice, he even considered purposely tripping when they unchained him in the evening, falling face-first with his hands behind his back. Maybe, if he hit the ground just right, the damned cangue would crush his windpipe, and he'd suffocate in minutes. Half an hour, tops—no one here would bother with a tracheotomy. Or if he landed just right, maybe it'd snap his neck—crack, and he'd be in the afterlife.
"If my mother were here, nobody would dare put me in a cangue," Elder Brother Ishi lamented. "Only vagrants end up in these. If you're from a good family, it's different. They'd just pay a fine. Though… if I were from a good family, why would I bother stealing a pendant..."
Nepotism, Viktor thought bitterly. Who cares. Who cares about local customs, traditions, the whole world. His time was almost up anyway. It was already the third day this body had gone without food or water, roasting in the day and freezing at night. He hadn't even used the bathroom in three days—there was nothing left to come out. Judging by feel, this body hadn't been pampered with food before: skinny arms and legs, barely any muscle. Hell, if he weren't already dying, the whole "gender switch" thing would have seriously stressed him out.
But the real problem wasn't being in a girl's body or even checking for, well, lost family 'jewels'. In traditional societies, a woman's role boils down to one thing: being a wife. And that's the best-case scenario. If you didn't manage to land a good, rich, and kind husband (were there even such things?), you got another fate: first a bedwarmer (and let's not forget, there was nothing humane about this place), then a servant once your youth was gone, or some combination of both. Becoming a bedwarmer sounded just as awful as being a wife. Neither option brought any excitement. Maybe it was better to just die here. Died in one world, dying in this one now.
Hmm. What if this was all recursive? Maybe he was trapped in hell, destined to die over and over in different settings? Die here, open his eyes and boom—now he was Stenka Razin, on the platform, about to be quartered. Die again, wake up in Japan, sitting on a bamboo stake or some other inventive torture. Ages of endless agony, new bodies, new ages, but the pain was always the same.
"Hey, oddball, look sharp. Here comes Guard Chan again—wait, is that the noble Lord Wen Mi Baoshu with him? May the ancestors be kind!" muttered Shaggy Ishi, shrinking as if he could disappear, which was impossible with the cangue on his neck.
Viktor glanced over at the approaching figures. Wen Mi Baoshu… The inscription on Ishi's cangue read: "Theft of a jade pendant, property of Madam Wen Mi." So this man was likely Madam Wen Mi's family—probably her husband.
Several things caught Viktor's attention at once. First, it was not Guard Chan Di leading the way with confidence—no, he trailed behind, head bowed, very slightly, but it was clear. This was not the posture of "I lead, you follow," but more, "I escort a most esteemed lord—know your place." The lord himself walked with squared shoulders, slow and smooth as if floating, as if he had a bowl of hot tea on his head and was forbidden to look around. A lofty gaze, an arrogant gait... Everything about him radiated confidence and social standing. Viktor didn't know much about local clothes, but he was sure the locals could see at a glance that this man was a big shot—judging by the finery of his garment, ornate cap, elegant fan, or the sword hanging by his belt.
Not that Viktor cared. If he was going to die, then so be it. He didn't have the strength to react to anyone's arrival, anyway. As Old Scarface used to say in the movies, "Sorry I'm not jumping for joy—I've got a bit of a backache." Exactly. Only here, everyone's back ached.
"Hey, you paupers!" Guard Chan Di barked, "Show proper respect. The great Lord Wen Mi Baoshu honors you with his presence!"
"Please forgive this wretch!" Shaggy Ishi cried immediately, dropping to all fours. "Forgive me! My eyes are unworthy to look upon you…"
"And what about you?" the guard turned to Viktor, raising his spear and prodding Viktor in the ribs with the blunt end. Viktor endured it philosophically, wishing the guard would just flip the spear around and put the leaf-shaped blade straight through his heart instead. But no, that wouldn't be allowed. He didn't even have the strength to kneel like Ishi had, let alone try to stand.
"Leave him." Lord Baoshu lifted a hand, and the guard stopped. Viktor wondered vaguely if there was a specific punishment for "showing disrespect to Lord Baoshu." His thoughts floated sluggishly, like half-dead fish under the ice, starved of oxygen.
"Lift your head, vagrant, and thief," Lord Baoshu said to Shaggy, who lifted both his head and cangue, propping them up with his hands. "No way I can pull that off right now," Viktor thought bleakly. "Ironic—your mind stays sharp even as you're dying. You can think clearly to the end, and that's the real cruelty."
"Noble Lord Wen Mi!" Shaggy babbled, "May your family have abundance and health! May your children thrive! May the gods bless you! May—"
Viktor just closed his eyes. Who grovels like that? That's not how you talk to someone with power—you're only making yourself look weaker. That's no way to negotiate.
"What were you thinking, you scoundrel, trying to steal from my wife?" Lord Baoshu's voice rang out.
Shaggy Ishi folded over again, pressing the cangue to the ground, calling on Heaven and Earth as his witnesses, swearing the devil made him do it—it was all a mistake, he'd just found the pendant in the street, and he was hurrying to return it to Madam Wen Mi, may her name be blessed for generations; he just ran the wrong way, how was he to know where Madam lived? The whole town knew? Well, he'd gotten confused, ran through the market by mistake. He was just in a hurry! Really! As for the pendant being cut off someone's belt—what scoundrels! May the gods strike them down. Madam Wen Mi was truly a heavenly maiden on earth, and these monsters tried to steal from her! Good thing he, Ishi Qin Si, was there to uphold the law! Surely, the real culprits got scared and dropped the pendant, which he then picked up! Yes, the judge misunderstood, but for the fair name of Madam Wen Mi, he'd gladly sit in the cangue!
"I see." For a brief moment, Lord Baoshu's expression shifted, and Viktor could swear he saw a tiny smile. There it was: Lord Baoshu's true self. Of course, he was important, influential, acted the part—but that shadow of a smile said more than any words. Viktor felt a faint pulse of hope. Just how powerful was this Lord Wen Mi Baoshu? Did he have the authority to pull them out of the cangue?
"Truly! I swear by my blessed mother, by all my brothers and my little sister!" Shaggy yammered, somehow still full of energy after three days locked in the stocks.
"Well. It seems there really was a misunderstanding," Lord Baoshu said, turning to the guard. "Honored Chan Di, release this man at once."
"But… that's not procedure, Lord Wen Mi," the guard protested, bowing. "If it were up to me—but Judge Chen… and besides, he could file a complaint. We'd need to reopen the entire case."
"Fine. I'll speak to Judge Chen myself," Lord Baoshu said suddenly. "After all, it's his responsibility. As for complaints—will you be lodging a complaint about improper justice, or do you have any grievances against the Wen Mi family?" he asked Shaggy Ishi, who shook his head violently, rubbing his neck against the cangue in panic, swearing by all the gods he had no complaints, and would never dream of it.
"Very good." Lord Baoshu leaned in and whispered, quiet enough that even the guard couldn't hear, "Don't think you fooled me, Ishi Qin Si. This is your last chance. I just don't want my wife's name lingering on a shame post in the middle of the city one day longer. So let that be clear: there will not be a next time, understand?" He squinted, listening to another flurry of oaths before turning away.
"Lord Baoshu…" Viktor realized this was his chance. Because he wouldn't last a month in this cangue—he might not even last another day. But for some reason, right now, he desperately wanted to live, even in this awkward body, even in this strange world.
"And who are you?" Lord Baoshu raised an eyebrow, straightening. His eyes quickly scanned the inscription on Viktor's cangue. "Disrespecting Judge Chen? Now I see what kind."
"Lord Wen Mi! Permit me to prod her with my spear—a lesson in proper manners!" the guard cut in, raising his spear again. Great, Viktor thought. Another beating for nothing. What am I doing wrong?
"Hold it." Lord Baoshu raised his hand again. "Did you have something to say to me?"
"Lord Baoshu!" Viktor repeated, catching the guard's frown and Shaggy Ishi cowering into the dirt. What was he doing wrong? The name—Baoshu was his given name, Wen Mi his family name! The guard had addressed him by family name. So, using the given name was only for close people—now it made sense.
"Lord Wen Mi!" Viktor corrected quickly, catching the faintest twitch of a smile on Lord Baoshu's lips. Bullseye. I'm showing I can learn. Quick analysis: Lord Baoshu's a big shot, the top boss, the biggest fish here. He can talk to the judge who put us here, and there's every reason to believe he could get us out. He seemed in a good mood now—well-fed, content, brimming with self-confidence. What motivated him? He'd come to pardon a thief who tried to steal a pendant from his wife. Why? He'd said so himself—he didn't believe Shaggy Ishi's excuses one bit. But the very fact that the cangue board read "tried to steal from Madam Wen Mi" brought the wrong kind of attention to his wife and his family. As people say: "maybe he stole it, maybe he didn't. But the story's unpleasant." Even if his family were the victims in a criminal case, having their name next to a criminal's still left a bad aftertaste. So, Lord Wen Mi Baoshu cared about his family's public image. That was crucial. Maybe the most important thing.
The second clue: his sense of humor. The sharper the sense of humor, the greater the intellect. The ability to laugh at oneself is rare and shows a mind capable of abstract thinking. Lord Wen Mi Baoshu could laugh at himself. Anyone else would have grown furious at Shaggy's outlandish excuses—"Oh, so you're mocking me now?" But though this was about his wife, his family, he could still smile at the absurdity. Judging by his posture, voice, and everything else, Viktor could also see Baoshu was no pushover, and his anger would be terrifying. Conclusion: his family's image matters to him, even trivial affronts bother him. He was smart, authoritative, but with a practical mind and a sense of humor.
"Lord Wen Mi!" Viktor, with great effort, bowed, almost falling forward as the cangue pulled him down. "Heaven itself sent you today. Alas, I have no way to properly express my gratitude. But all of House Wen Mi, and you personally, will be remembered for your mercy if you spare the life of just one person. I will spend my whole life singing your family's praise, and yours personally."
"Well, look at that. You do know how to behave after all," Lord Baoshu remarked with surprise. "And here I thought you couldn't even bend your back."