In an old house in Wuzhou, southwest region, it was pitch black without a glimpse of daylight.

Song Zhiwei collapsed limply on the ground, surrounded by waves of foul stench. Even though he had grown accustomed to such smells, he still retched.

But because he hadn’t eaten anything for too long, even his vomiting was dry heaving, and he inhaled some of the terrible odor, making him feel even worse.

His whole body weak, he leaned against the wall and sat down, naturally thinking of the word “death” once again.

He wanted to commit suicide.

He couldn’t endure even one more moment of such days.

But in the next instant, when he heard the sound of a food box being placed, he immediately struggled to crawl over, skillfully fumbling to retrieve the food box from a small hole in the pitch darkness.

He couldn’t see what was inside the food box.

But after eating for so long, he could tell—it should be spoiled steamed buns again.

He wolfed them down ravenously.

The guards outside watching over him grew increasingly lazy. Last time they went two days without delivering food, and seeing he didn’t die, this time they simply went three to five days. Whether it was three days or five days, he didn’t know, because there was no distinction between day and night here—he could only roughly estimate.

Like a starving ghost reborn, he devoured a steamed bun in large bites, then hastily gulped down some water.

When he was first locked in here, they gave him plenty of food. Though simple, it wasn’t spoiled. But after several days, the food changed to spoiled. He had cursed, begged, attempted suicide, but was always rescued, and the food became nothing but spoiled steamed buns.

At first, he thought he wouldn’t survive. And indeed he couldn’t survive. He attempted suicide again. But was still rescued.

He no longer dared to attempt suicide.

It hurt too much. And he still couldn’t die completely.

He opened his eyes and stared vacantly around, looking at this despairing darkness, and a tear fell.

How did it come to this?

Footsteps suddenly sounded outside.

Song Zhiwei startled, then hurriedly knelt on the ground in panic, pleading: “Let me go, let me die…”

Let him die.

He was willing to die to atone for his sins.

Even though he had no idea what his sins were. He only knew that the one imprisoning him was Lan Shanjun.

From their very first meeting, she had called out to him and said those three words: “Medicine King Body.” At the time, though he took note of it in his heart, he didn’t take it seriously. Now he finally understood what it meant.

So this was what a Medicine King Body meant.

Like someone on the verge of death, yet always clinging to one last breath. Clinging and clinging, until it became habitual.

A body of illness and pain, when habitual, had already convinced itself to live in suffering, never to be reborn even until the moment of death.

Song Zhiwei began to cry.

He kowtowed, saying: “I offended you, so kill me, don’t torture me like this.”

Why torture him like this?

Back then, he and she were complete strangers. Even if he had harbored thoughts of using her, that was the Grand Imperial Grandson’s intention. It wasn’t his own idea to marry her.

“I didn’t offend you—is it because of Duan Boyan? Is it because of my father?”

Was it because Father offended Duan Boyan?

So Lan Shanjun came to take revenge for Duan Boyan?

He began cursing his own father.

“What an ungrateful wretch, receiving General Duan’s kindness back then, yet ultimately betraying him.”

“Shameless traitor, deserving of death by a thousand cuts.”

After cursing for a while, seeing no movement outside, he began cursing even more outrageously. All kinds of crude and vulgar words poured out, becoming increasingly unbearable to hear.

But there was still no movement outside. So he began cursing Wu Qingchuan.

After finishing with Wu Qingchuan, he cursed Prince Qi, the Emperor, and Imperial Consort Lin.

But curse after curse, in the end, the hostile energy in his heart remained unsettled, and his death wish grew stronger.

This time he planned to bite off his tongue to end it all.

But he feared he would still be rescued. Then it would be even more unbearable than death.

He hesitated and wavered, struggling between life and death, in extreme agony.

Song Zhiwei still decided to die.

He could no longer bear this suffering. He knew that continuing like this was still a dead end.

He would die sooner or later anyway—better to give himself a quick end now. If even biting off his tongue could result in being saved, then that too was heaven’s torment for him.

His tongue circled inside his mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to bite down. This was even more terrifying than crashing into a wall.

But just as he was trying to bite down, a ray of light suddenly leaked in through the window.

Song Zhiwei slowly widened his eyes. He practically crawled over on hands and feet, using his hands, his face, his body to touch this ray of light.

He stayed in this ray of light for a long time, until the sun set in the west, night fell, and the light disappeared.

Song Zhiwei felt hollow inside, curling up into himself, but hope rose in his heart.

It was night now.

He finally knew with certainty—this was night.

But in the next instant, he felt anguish because of this glimmer of hope.

He cried out in pain, not knowing why he had to accept such severe punishment.

No matter how great the sins, death would simply end it all, yet someone could be so vicious, so utterly devoid of conscience, to devise such a method to torture people.

Lan Shanjun—if there ever came a day when he could get out, he would definitely find a way to dismember her into ten thousand pieces.

He would definitely make her taste this Medicine King Body treatment.

He didn’t sleep all night. He was waiting for dawn. He couldn’t wait to see daylight again.

But heaven was unkind—the next day, no light entered the house again, still pitch black.

It was raining outside.

It seemed he could only wait for clear weather.

But the continuous drizzle went on for several days without clearing. Song Zhiwei began to grow agitated and manic.

He began constantly slapping himself, kowtowing and cursing his father Duke Songguo and others.

Later, his resentment shifted to everyone—anyone he could remember, he would curse once through.

However, even in his crazed madness, there were moments of extreme clarity.

He sat quietly in the corner, unable to face himself.

He, Song Zhiwei, had once been the pride of heaven in Luoyang City, pursued and admired by countless people.

As a youth studying, he could recognize characters at three, compose poetry at five. He was a young genius—whether in calligraphy or essays, whenever he produced something, it would invariably draw praise.

He knew he had a brilliant future ahead.

But Father wouldn’t let him stand out anymore. Wouldn’t let him enter officialdom too early, wouldn’t let his poetry and essays be circulated. Father wanted him to be an “unknown” person.

That day, sitting in the study, he felt unbearably stifled.

Why?

Even now he still thought this way—why? Why did Father’s desire for advancement require sacrificing his own official career? Why couldn’t Father retire at the peak while he went to court?

If only Father had listened to his wishes and let him enter court early, perhaps by now it would be Lan Shanjun and Yu Qingwu locked up instead.

He began cursing, louder and louder, hoping someone would come argue with him.

Just one person would be enough.

It had been so long since he’d spoken with anyone.

Another clear sunny day arrived.

That ray of light came as promised.

Song Zhiwei struggled to lift his head and look up, crawling over with effort, changing positions as the light moved.

Today’s light seemed a bit more abundant than before.

But today’s light didn’t make him feel much better.

He broke down even more.

He pounded his chest over and over, crying out again and again.

Finally, he made his decision.

He bit off his tongue to end his life.

He was unwilling to endure even one more day.

——

Footsteps sounded outside.

In a daze, Song Zhiwei heard someone ask, “Doctor, can he be saved?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. The monthly salary is quite high—I don’t want him dying this early.”