This should be a dungeon.

Gong Qilin lay still amidst the heap of pungent, rotting grass. Though his tendons had been severed, his eyes gouged out, he could still distinctly feel a nimble hand carefully tending to the festering wounds on his body.

The crisp sound of clinking wasn't the jingle of the once familiar pendant, but the clash of shackles as they struggled.

“Don’t bother, it’s useless.” He knew exactly who the prisoner who was brought in with him was, but only the sound of the shackles could be heard, and his situation shouldn't be much better than his.

His wounds...

It's just waiting to die.

Zi was more stubborn than he imagined, still changing the dressing on his wound every day with fresh cloth, then acting as if nothing had happened, lingering in the corner not far from him, without a sound.

The guard isn't here every day. Since he woke up, it's been three or four days, and no one has come to look after this place anymore.

There was no food, no water. Only cockroaches and vermin that crawled over his wounds incessantly, feasting on the stench of decay. And there were rats lurking under the haystacks, gnawing at his flesh.

If it were before, he, Gong Qilin, only needed a finger to turn these creatures into mud; but now...

The man's consciousness was somewhat hazy, he knew this was merely a consequence of the wounds and their aftereffects; first came the fever, then the coma, and finally perhaps, putrefaction, disappearing forever from this world.

He was unwilling to accept defeat!

If there were no that cup of wine...

Once, in his eyes, it was the warmest hand in the world, a smile so warm that he couldn't refuse, willingly plunging into this dark cage.

As it turns out, everything he had longed for was nothing more than a reflection in a mirror or the moon in water, an illusion that could never truly be his.

Mother!

Brother!

Hahahahahahaha!!

The man suddenly burst into laughter, a cruel and desperate sound, like the roar of one who is unwilling to be confined. In this small cage, his laughter startled the tiny Ying huddled in the corner, as well as the guards outside who had never dared to enter.

"What the heck!"

The clang of the prison gate opening was accompanied by disgruntled curses. The sound of heavy footsteps mingled with the stench of alcohol. The man immediately felt a dull ache from a blow to his head. Powerless to resist, he lay there like a piece of meat on a chopping board, subjected to their whims and brutality.

"Stop, stop fighting."

A feeble voice, accompanied by a violent snarl and the rattling of chains being hurriedly drawn open, though quickly shut again. He still felt the small body that had just thrown itself in front of him, shielding him from...

After those people had vented their anger, they grumbled and left.

"Does it hurt?" the man hesitated for a moment before asking softly the child curled up by his side.

"It's gotten used to, it doesn't hurt anymore." The voice was low but very calm. "When I was at home, the sisters really hurt me with rattan sticks."

"You're so useless, why don't you fight back?" The man remained silent for a moment, then spoke: "Wait until I get out, I'll teach them a lesson!"

"Good." In response to this promise that was clearly as absurd as it gets, Zi Hui replied with a crispness that belied his next words. After a pause, he added in a low voice, "But you have to live well if you want to go out."

The man did not speak again. The wounds, long and deep, brought him back to a heavy slumber after the brief respite from pain.

...until...

He was awakened in the cell by a violent stillness.

The men roared with laughter, while Zi cursed furiously.

In my memory, the gentle and quiet child is now struggling violently, emitting piercing screams. The clinking of the shackles remains like a curse, echoing clearly in his ears, refusing to disappear, audible and unmistakable.

Gong Qilin was very clear about what was happening.

His heart was roaring, screaming inside him, wanting to pulverize those bastards one by one!

But now, he can't even move his fingers.

……

Gong Qilin suddenly opened his eyes, hearing the faint crackling sound of a candle burning out. He let out a soft sigh of relief.

Unconsciously, he dreamed of the past again.

The blood splattering on his face was the last act of resistance; he could feel the impact of his body against the wall, a deep bone-shattering, soul-wrenching pain.

Actually, Gong Qilin is still unclear why, even though he was clearly burned to death in prison, he would wake up and be back before the chaos began.

Could it be that the resentment and rage of his dying curse truly received a response?

But that doesn't seem to matter anymore, what matters is that he now—

Still alive.

"Your Highness, it's already the fourth watch. The Emperor's enthronement ceremony is about to begin. You should get up and prepare."