After an unknown amount of time, Gao Changgong finally saw the first living person in the cold cell - a jailer. This middle-aged man was tall, but his back was bent, as if he had been carrying an invisible burden on his shoulders for many years. His face was cold, his eyes were empty and silent, like an uncarved stone, without a trace of emotion. In the dim cell, through the cage, you can vaguely see: his rough skin seemed to be weathered, his eyes were bloodshot, and his dim eyes made it difficult to guess his thoughts. His hands were covered with calluses from years of labor, as if they had never been soft and warm. His silence was oppressive and cold. He didn't say a word every time he entered and exited the cell, and even looking at Gao Changgong more seemed redundant.
From that day on, he delivered food on time once a day, with simple movements and always maintaining a mechanical indifference. The meals were not luxurious, but they were still acceptable. A bowl of hot porridge, a few rough pancakes, and occasionally some pickled vegetables. Although the food did not taste outstanding, it was the only source of strength for the imprisoned Gao Changgong. Although the porridge was thin, it was enough to warm the body, and although the cake was hard, it barely filled the stomach. There were no other tableware to avoid the prisoner from using it. The food delivered each time was clean, so as not to embarrass him. Every time the jailer put down the food, he turned around and left, without communicating with him much.
Finally, one time, the jailer stopped when putting down the food and spoke slowly. The dull and hoarse voice broke the silence in the cell: "Our country is finished, it has been half a month, there are news of defeat every day, and three cities have been lost." He did not look at Gao Changgong, but just stood by the door, looking forward, with a heavy tone that was difficult to conceal. "Sooner or later, I will be imprisoned as well."
Gao Changgong was stunned for a moment, and his heart was in turmoil. He did not know that the enemy would come back so quickly after the last triumph, and he did not know that the war on the front line was so tense. The jailer continued, his voice full of hidden pain: "My son... is also at the front. After their battle, only a few people escaped back, and I haven't heard from him for several days." For the first time, a trace of pain appeared in his eyes, and he tightly grasped the tray in his hand, with veins on the back of his hand bulging. The sadness and helplessness were revealed in his every move.
"The soldiers on the front suffered heavy casualties, and the people were worried. But the masters only care about power struggles and how to save themselves..." The jailer's voice was very low, as if he was afraid that the walls were listening to his words. He suddenly paused, took a deep breath, and muttered in a low voice: "You dignitaries and generals are just pawns... No one can escape."
Gao Changgong couldn't help but feel heavy in his heart when he heard these words. Although he was in the prison, he seemed to feel the hardship and despair of the outside world. The pessimism of the jailer was like an invisible infection, making him feel the deep crisis within the court. This was not just his personal crisis, the entire Northern Qi dynasty seemed to be crumbling.
The jailer whispered: "You may be luckier than those who are still on the battlefield if you stay here... At least you are still alive." After that, he put the tray heavily on the ground and turned to leave. The heavy footsteps gradually disappeared in the darkness of the cell, leaving Gao Changgong alone in the cold cell, falling into deeper contemplation.
After saying that, the jailer turned and left. Gao Changgong was very anxious. As the jailer's footsteps gradually faded away, he stood up suddenly, wanting to know more about the situation outside. He shouted loudly: "Wait! Tell me more news! Where are the enemy troops? Which cities have they taken? Who is leading the troops to resist?" His voice echoed between the stone walls of the prison, sounding empty and powerless.
The jailer's footsteps did not stop, and he still walked out heavily and firmly, as if he did not hear Gao Changgong's shouts. Despair surged in his heart, and Gao Changgong shouted again: "What is your name? What is your son's name? Which unit is he in?!"
The footsteps on the stone steps gradually disappeared at the end of the corridor, and the jailer did not respond. The cell fell into cold silence again, and only Gao Changgong's lonely voice echoed. Gao Changgong stood there, his chest heaving violently, his hands clasped together, and countless questions surged in his heart, but there was no answer. The jailer's silence and receding figure made him feel helpless, as if the darkness of the prison had completely isolated him from the outside world. He could only stand there, unable to calm down for a long time.