The poison staff—this was the first time in Shiliang’s life she’d ever heard of such a thing!

But a staff itself, she knew well enough.

Whether in the royal palace or in wealthy households, staves of this kind were commonly used—there was even a punishment called the staff-flogging, a form of corporal punishment.

Specifically, it involved beating a criminal’s back, buttocks, thighs, and other body parts with large bamboo planks or thick bramble rods. Under normal circumstances, someone of weaker constitution could die from a mere hundred strokes; someone sturdier might last two hundred before meeting the same fate.

Punishment staves came in three types—large, standard, and small—each with correspondingly graded severity, based on the instrument used. And those who administered the punishment were themselves ranked according to their role; with a flogging staff in hand, the power over life, death, and severity rested entirely on a single thought.

Whatever this poison staff was, Shiliang was certain of one thing—it couldn’t possibly be anything good.

“Old man of the poison den, I’ve done nothing to wrong you, so what exactly do you want!” Shiliang cried out, though her voice lacked conviction—she no longer had the nerve to sound truly angry.

But the old man of the poison den had already grown bored of her, ignoring her entirely, his full attention fixed on two bowls of blood-water. The one on his right held a single drop Han Ziqing had left behind on her previous visit, now fully dissolved into the water. The one on his left held a drop Shiliang had left not long ago, only just beginning to spread, thin red threads still drifting through the white porcelain bowl.

The old man of the poison den gently stirred both bowls of blood-water, seemingly oblivious to everyone around him, staring up at the ceiling in deep thought for a long while before finally letting out a soft sigh. He personally picked up both bowls and walked off into the darkness.

“Hey, come back here! Old man of the poison den, explain yourself, what exactly are you trying to do!”

“I’ve done nothing to wrong you, you can’t do this, let me go!”

“Otherwise, when my master comes looking for me, you’ll have more trouble than you can handle!”

“Hey!”

…

No one paid Shiliang any mind at all. Luocha had already gone off to retrieve the poison staff, and once the old man’s figure had completely vanished into the darkness, Shiliang gradually stopped shouting, waiting timidly for a long while. When she was certain there was no more movement around her, she scrambled up at once!

Never mind how formidable the old man of the poison den’s poison arts might be—just his sheer eccentricity was enough to convince Shiliang that he would happily devour her alive, bone by bone, without spitting out so much as a fragment.

With no one around now, if she didn’t escape now, when would she?

The surroundings were dim, the feeble oil lamp only casting light within a small radius; beyond that, it was pitch black, impossible to see even a hand in front of one’s face.

Shiliang had no time to spare for caution. She snatched up the oil lamp and turned to head in the opposite direction from where the old man of the poison den had gone. The chamber seemed enormous. She took several tentative steps forward, the dim lamplight illuminating a wide stretch behind her, but ahead there was nothing but more darkness.

Just then, the sound of Luocha’s footsteps came thudding from her right. Without thinking, Shiliang immediately bolted left.

But she hadn’t run more than a few steps before she suddenly let out a piercing scream. Her lamp crashed to the ground and struck her foot, but she didn’t even register the pain.

She stood frozen, every inch of her body rigid with shock. Except for her still-beating heart, everything else seemed to have stopped completely.

What had been hiding in the darkness this whole time—it was a wall, built entirely from countless pale, bloodless faces, their seven orifices streaked with blood!

There was no telling male from female, young from old—just faces, an entire wall built from nothing but faces, pairs upon pairs of hollow, glowing green eyes seeming to stare straight at her.

“No…”

Suddenly, Shiliang let out a sharp, piercing scream and collapsed into unconsciousness from sheer terror.

Luocha came walking over, glanced down at her with disdain, and dragged her away by the wrists without ceremony. Before long, his retreating figure had vanished into the darkness, and the entire chamber fell into silence once more, as though nothing had happened at all.

By now, the two bowls of blood-water had been mixed with all manner of medicinal agents by the old man of the poison den, turning into a rainbow of colors—impossible now to tell which one belonged to Ziqing and which to Shiliang.

“Master, everything’s ready. You’ve even had the poison staff brought out—is this poison-body really so difficult to cultivate?”

“Mm. Though it’s true her constitution was born for this, she’s still too young. It’ll take extreme measures to bring it out properly.”

“Then… Master, why did you instruct earlier that…”

“A momentary lapse, that’s all.” The old man of the poison den chuckled, warm and kindly as ever.

Luocha rolled his eyes—it was his own reputation being tarnished by this, not his master’s, of course his master could say it didn’t matter.

The old man of the poison den brought over the bowls of blood-water, laughing. “Here, here, have a bowl, my treat.”

Luocha was confused, but the old man lifted the other bowl himself instead, drinking it down in a single gulp. Luocha’s eyes went wide with shock. Though the people of the poison den all looked terrifying, that was usually just for show.

But his master… was actually terrifying, through and through!

“Master, you should drink it yourself!” Luocha refused at once. He understood his master less and less these days. Once he could at least guess at his intentions somewhat, but lately, he couldn’t fathom him at all.

“Master, if it’s so difficult to cultivate, why not just use someone ready-made? Isn’t Prince Yao’s consort already someone immune to all poisons?”

Luocha genuinely didn’t understand. The drop of blood Han Ziqing had left behind that time—he and his master had spent two full days and nights confirming beyond doubt that it truly carried the lone island’s poison-immune bloodline.

“Heh heh, this old master doesn’t care for that girl Han Ziqing. This old master prefers Shiliang—so much more adorable, don’t you think? Especially when she’s terrified. So very endearing.”

As the old man of the poison den spoke, he casually picked up the bowl of blood-water and drained it in one long gulp, then made his way toward another chamber.

To call this place a “chamber” would be generous—”execution ground” was closer to the truth.

Unlike the dim gloom of the other room, this space was flooded with light—and it was precisely that brightness that illuminated every last horror within it in full detail.

Not to mention the thick, inescapable stench of rot hanging in the air—just looking at the floor, stained a deep, near-black crimson, was enough to make anyone wonder how much blood must have been spilled to dye it so dark.

The old man of the poison den lounged lazily in the only rocking chair in the room, swaying slowly back and forth, while a death warrior—thin and small as a monkey—stood respectfully at his side, holding out with both hands a flogging implement the size of a long whip: the very treasure of the poison den itself, the poison staff.

The upper section of this instrument was a straight bamboo plank, while the lower section was made of bamboo skin—extremely thin, yet remarkably resilient, never once breaking no matter what it struck.

The entire staff, from end to end, was solid black—ancient, mysterious in appearance, utterly without decoration of any kind, not even a single carved totem. And yet, in its very simplicity, it radiated an aura of malevolence so palpable it was enough to strike fear into anyone’s heart.

“Master, are you really going to wake her up?” Luocha asked earnestly.

The old man of the poison den, impatient, waved a hand to shoo him aside. Luocha, being highly experienced, knew well enough that the poison staff wasn’t only brought out to cultivate poison—it was also brought out for brutal interrogation!

The staff’s most fearsome quality was in its beating—it could pulverize the flesh beneath the skin while leaving the skin itself entirely unmarked.

And this particular poison staff’s most terrifying quality of all was that, no matter how ferociously it struck, it never broke the skin, never damaged bone or major blood vessels.

It could pound a person’s flesh, beneath the skin, above the bone, into complete mush—and the person would still be alive.