560 The Young Prince’s Torture
In a wasteland, the setting sun bathed the damp yellow earth in a blood-red glow. The lingering scent of blood wafted into the distance, attracting droves of vultures to circle above.
A desolate city stood eerily quiet beneath them, and beyond the reach of the sunset, a massive earthen castle emerged. This was the northern Qiong clan — the dwelling of the Qiong Qi clan, one of the eight royal clans.
In a hidden chamber, the third young master suddenly spat a mouthful of blood, abruptly awakening from his spirit world meditation. His complexion was ashen, his eyes blazing with fury.
“What happened to the young master?”
A group of guards, alerted by the scent of blood, rushed into the room. Towering in stature and bearing peculiar appearances, they were only slightly less noticeable than Third Young Master Qiong.
“Bring me a pen and paper!” the young master bellowed.
Almost instantly, a servant spun around and returned within moments, a pen and paper in hand.
Adjacent to Third Young Master Qiong’s secret room lay a small warehouse, stocked with everything from writing supplies and talismans to ancient books and enticing companions — all available at a moment’s notice to satisfy the Young Master’s whims. This was the foundation of the Barren State’s preeminent clan.
With an air of authority, Third Young Master Qiong grasped the pen and began sketching a face on the fine goatskin parchment — the face of Qin Huai. With a swift flick of his wrist, he tossed aside the pen and presented the parchment to his men.
“Dispatch all our spies to the imperial city. Unearth everything there is to know about this man!” he commanded in a grave tone, his eyes seething with lethal intent.
He viewed this formidable adversary as a grave threat who needed to be eliminated, especially given the dragon energy coursing through him. Though he anticipated the downfall of the Long family, Third Young Master Qiong preferred not to leave anything to chance.
“Understood!” his men responded, kneeling on one knee. They pledged their loyalty to Third Young Master Qiong, ready to obey any order — even if it meant their own demise.
Once they left, Third Young Master Qiong reached up to touch his face, his large hand skimming over his head. “So this is what death feels like…” He studied his trembling hand, a grim expression on his face.
Beside him, a young woman delicately lit three sticks of blue incense. The faint smoke started to fill the chamber, the soothing scent permeating the air.
Third Young Master Qiong slowly closed his eyes, commencing the process of mending his battered soul.
…
In the spirit world, Qin Huai found himself immersed in an all-encompassing golden world. The golden oceans washed over him as the melodious ring of Sanskrit sounds filled his ears, instilling tranquility in his mind.
He felt a curious kinship with the blood within him. As time progressed, this sensation grew stronger, so much so that Qin Huai felt like he had become a mere droplet of blood, drifting along the vast oceanic currents.
It coursed through his meridians, organs, and bones, eventually reaching the starry world within him. The increasingly overwhelming sensations and enigmatic world caused Qin Huai to lose himself momentarily, the only certainty being his deepening comprehension of his body.
The once crimson blood within him had mysteriously transformed into a vibrant golden hue. The golden blood chanted Sanskrit hymns, morphing into billions of golden monks seated cross-legged, in deep meditation within Qin Huai’s body.
His dantian world was now populated by these golden monks, attracting the gaze of awakened deities and lurking predators. A golden sun, resonating with his internal changes, hung high in the sky, inciting a dark undercurrent to stir.
Meanwhile, every surviving member of the six clans and three sects held their ground. They surrounded Long Huixing, vigilantly eyeing the Golden Spirit Temple under the protection of the venerable golden guardian.
“Young prince, won’t you enlighten us about the dragon clan’s eminent figure?” the fairy inquired coldly, not bothering to mask the threat in her voice.
She traced her fingers delicately over Long Huixing’s body, causing him to tremble. However, this was far from seduction. Long Huixing’s body was being torn apart, bleeding profusely.
“Indeed, we’ve long been fascinated by the dragon clan’s secrets. Why don’t you share them with us?” the phoenix twins chimed in. Their words carried a more direct threat, demonstrated by the methodical snapping of Long Huixing’s fingers.
Crack!
A blood-curdling roar echoed through the forest as Long Huixing’s torment continued. Out of ten fingers, only three remained unbroken. Regrettably, despite such brutal torture, they were yet to extract the desired information.
Surrounded by influential figures, Long Huixing, on the brink of death, could only grimace in pain. He had been speaking until his throat was dry, but no one believed his words. His body was marred with deep wounds, having endured every possible method of torture imposed by the six clans.
“I truly do not know who he is. I don’t even know his name!” Long Huixing shouted hoarsely, his tone marked with despair.
“The young prince is indeed different from the rumors,” the portly monk from the Buddhist Sect remarked, a look of admiration on his face.
“The six clans’ torture failed to make the young prince speak. Clearly, rumors can be deceiving,” the fairy added, her voice filled with reluctant praise for the beleaguered prince.