Only when acid rises in your throat, bringing with it the rotten, putrid stench of food, does one realize through these physical signals that their mental fortifications are being cruelly eroded? The senses always move faster than that thing called “spirit.” Yang Wan’s memories of the imperial prison were almost entirely sensory.

Torture interrogation relates to bodily dignity; studying its history requires strong detachment and a sense of boundaries.

Yet now Yang Wan could feel that acidic fear constantly surging in her throat. The fear came from her knowledge of Ming Dynasty torture methods, and this body’s memory of pain, making her tremble uncontrollably.

“Chain her up, Commander Zhang will question her personally.”

Yang Wan looked around. For her interrogation, they had cleared the torture chamber of all other prisoners. The thick walls blocked out all outside sounds, leaving those inside unable to hear any human suffering, forcing them to focus solely on their situation.

Two officers grabbed Yang Wan’s arms, lifted her from the ground, and removed the shackles from her wrists.

In the center of the chamber stood a water-splashed torture rack. The officers unhesitatingly bound her to it, with one saying, “Just rope around the waist is fine, how much strength could a woman have?”

“Right, but make it tight.”

Yang Wan felt the rope suddenly constrict around her waist, making her retch.

The officer standing before the rack said, “A bit lighter, she’s gone pale.”

The person behind the rack peered around to look at Yang Wan. “You’ve gone soft because she’s pretty, haven’t you?”

Before he could respond, the speaker noticed that Zhang Luo had already seated himself in the high chair before the rack.

“Neck.”

He pointed at Yang Wan, and the officer quickly looped an iron chain around her neck, forcing her head back and immediately making it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t help but cough several times, making the rack shake and the chains restraining her clash together, their cold collision echoing several times in the silent chamber.

“Sir, everything’s ready.”

“Mm.”

Zhang Luo looked up at Yang Wan on the rack.

She wore the gray-white prison uniform, her hair had been let down and carelessly tied with a plain band over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell due to her labored breathing. Unlike other prisoners, she didn’t seem prepared to speak at first, only looking down at him with emotions in her eyes that weren’t the hatred and terror Zhang Luo was familiar with.

“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine, then we’ll start with three lashes. You’ll be clearer-headed once you see blood.”

He tossed a sheepskin whip to the officer before the rack.

The officer took the whip with almost no hesitation, stepped back three paces, and delivered the first lash across Yang Wan’s waist and abdomen.

Yang Wan’s first cry of pain was completely muffled in her mouth, not because the torturer showed mercy, but because such flesh-tearing pain had been almost extinct in modern civilization.

After the fall of feudalism, civilization abandoned most physical punishments, turning to more humane ways to discipline people. Later, as medicine advanced, it worked to minimize the duration and extent of physical pain. In nearly thirty years of life, Yang Wan couldn’t find any sound to match this present agony. One breath expelled almost emptied her lungs, and she couldn’t even draw another. Only tears emerged naturally, flowing down her cheeks and into her trembling lips.

The second lash that followed forced out Yang Wan’s scream. The rack shook violently with her body’s tremors. No one spoke; besides the sound of the whip and chains, Yang Wan could only hear her voice. As if everything else was illusory, only the solid reality of pain could make her sense that she was living in the present moment, like fish meat under the butcher’s knife.

The third lash fell on her legs. Though her neck was bound by chains, from the corner of her eye she could see the horrifying wound had torn through her prison clothes. The whip’s withdrawal sprayed a string of tiny water droplets that fell directly into her eyes. Yang Wan felt her entire body being pulled apart by those three lash wounds, and from her lungs to her nasal cavity was filled with a burning sensation.

The officer withdrew the whip and cleared the space before the rack.

Zhang Luo stood up directly and reached out to steady the shaking rack.

“I originally didn’t want to treat you this way, but you’re too cunning a woman. I have no choice but to torture you.”

Yang Wan gasped as she looked at Zhang Luo. “Let… my neck… loose.”

“Fine.”

Zhang Luo reached out to undo the chain around her neck. Yang Wan’s head dropped suddenly, and the blood that had been unable to reach her head rushed back, instantly reddening her face and eyes.

Zhang Luo lifted Yang Wan’s head. “Listen well. My first question is whether Zheng Yuejia and Consort Ning knew each other before.”

“How many… questions do you have? Ask them all at once… I’ll answer them together.”

Zhang Luo’s hand suddenly tightened, making Yang Wan’s whole body shake with pain.

“What game are you playing?”

“What can I do… I just want to take fewer lashes…”

As she spoke, she bit the skin inside her cheek, using this minor pain to fight against her inner fear. At this moment, she couldn’t let Zhang Luo break through her mental defenses. She still needed to find a way to deduce the truth behind the Hejiu case from this interrogation of herself.

Zhang Luo looked into Yang Wan’s eyes and finally saw the emotion he wanted to see—sorrow.

Since knowing Yang Wan, this was the first time he had seen an expression of weakness and helplessness on this woman’s face.

He no longer restrained her chin, even stepping back to give her time to recover.

“Very well, I’ll ask you everything. Did Zheng Yuejia and Consort Ning have an affair? Was it Consort Ning who instructed Zheng Yuejia to have the wet nurse strangle the prince?”

Yang Wan endured the pain, forcing herself to maintain enough clarity to trace the origin of the Hejiu case backward from these three questions.

The purpose of the last question was to place the blame on Consort Ning. Once Consort Ning was found guilty, Yang Lun would have to return to the capital immediately for questioning, and his leadership of the Southern land reform would be directly suspended. This must be the ultimate goal of the Hejiu case. As for the first two questions…

“Zhang Luo…”

Yang Wan looked up at Zhang Luo. “Who told you to ask that first question?”

After hearing this, Zhang Luo took the sheepskin whip from the officer and backhandedly lashed it across Yang Wan’s abdomen.

Yang Wan’s body lurched forward, her fingers and toes instantly curling tight, but she couldn’t suppress the scream in her throat.

“Please… no more… I beg you…”

Zhang Luo placed the whip on Yang Wan’s shoulder; even such light contact made her tremble involuntarily.

“I’m the one questioning you.”

“Yes… but… don’t you want to know who’s using you?”

A flash of confusion crossed Zhang Luo’s eyes. He couldn’t understand how this woman on the rack, clearly terrified and shaking with pain, could still engage in verbal chess with him.

“Using me? What do you mean?”

Yang Wan finally managed to steady her breathing after the pain of that lash. “Was it Director He who told you to ask this?”

Zhang Luo froze, but Yang Wan caught that momentary panic in his eyes.

“Even if you would question whether Zheng Bibi acted on Consort Ning’s instructions, you would never think to ask about an affair between Consort Ning and Zheng Bibi. Zhang Luo, think about it—why would the person who told you this not report it to His Majesty themselves, but instead have you question me?”

“…”

Zhang Luo didn’t answer, and Yang Wan seized the opportunity to add, “The Tongjia Academy incident—it hasn’t even been a year, have you forgotten already?”

A chill ran down Zhang Luo’s spine as he suddenly noticed Yang Wan looking at him from the rack. That sympathetic gaze pierced him, and he shouted to those around him, “Give her ten more lashes!”

When Yang Wan heard this number, she almost despaired.

She was indeed afraid of the pain that made her lose composure, but she was more afraid that after those ten lashes, she would break down in front of Zhang Luo.

This man, Zhang Luo, could truly make people betray their lifelong spiritual beliefs.

Yang Wan finally understood that the title “Official of the Dark City” wasn’t a joke, but came from someone who had walked naked through hell and, upon emerging, painted this demon’s portrait.

Zhang Luo returned to sit in the high chair, watching as the whip tore Yang Wan’s prison clothes to shreds.

After four lashes, she could barely cry out anymore, her shoulders shaking as she made some inhuman sound through her nose, like a frightened young beast or the weak cry of a fledgling bird.

“Stop.”

The officer immediately stepped back.

“Ready to talk now?”

Yang Wan’s heart and lungs felt like they would burst, and speaking had become difficult. “Zhang Luo… let me eat something…”

These words came out as mere breath. “Or let me have a drink of water…”

“How much longer do you want to delay?”

Yang Wan coughed weakly several times. “Please…”

Zhang Luo raised his hand slightly. “Let her have a drink of water.”

The officer dropped the whip and scooped a ladle of water from the wooden bucket, bringing it to Yang Wan’s lips.

Yang Wan ignored her burning lungs and took small sips until she had finished all the water in the ladle.

Using this bit of coolness to gather her last shred of reason, she spoke to Zhang Luo haltingly: “Zhang Luo, you’ve tortured me this far… if I confessed that Consort Ning… and Zheng Bibi had an affair, would you… dare report it to His Majesty? For His Majesty, this would be… a great humiliation. Consort Ning and Zheng Bibi certainly wouldn’t survive… As for you… you might not survive either. Zhang Luo… don’t let the Ceremonial Office use you, understand?”

After saying this, the last thread of clarity in her mind was finally snapped by the pain throughout her body.

When she spoke again, tears burst forth, finally revealing the fragility inherent in human nature.

“Please spare me, don’t do this to me…”

She looked at Zhang Luo mournfully, tears wetting the hair on her face.

Her young and beautiful countenance, though twisted with pain, was still moving.

“Let her down.”

“Yes.”

The officer complied and undid her restraints. Without the bonds, she fell like a cloud, floating down to Zhang Luo’s feet.

“Why are you so cruel to people…”

She asked a question that didn’t need to be asked, and Zhang Luo didn’t answer. He crouched down and asked in return: “Why are you telling me all this? Don’t you hate me?”

“I hate you, but not entirely.”

“Why?”

“Because… Deng Ying told me that although the Northern Suppression Bureau is like hell, it might also be a door for the powerless to seek justice, a path for the poor and servants to make their voices heard by heaven. In this regard, he said… you’ve done quite well.”