Chapter 846: The Torture Chamber
Southwest of Wenshui City stood twelve enormous granaries, said to be capable of supplying the entire Great Zhou Dynasty’s six prefectures for a full year. If Wenshui City were ever besieged, these provisions would sustain the city’s soldiers and civilians for centuries—a testament to the sheer volume of grain stored within.
The foremost concern for such granaries was, of course, fire prevention, so they were all situated not far from the Wenshui River.
Though it was the depths of winter, standing inside the granaries, one could almost hear the distant sound of flowing water.
In truth, it was not the sound of water, but the sound of blood.
In the deepest granary of all, there was not a single grain of rice. The vast, almost majestic warehouse stood empty, save for a few dozen people.
Seven individuals had been stripped naked and hung from the iron chains used to transport grain. Blood ceaselessly dripped from their bodies, splattering onto the ground.
They had endured countless tortures, their condition utterly miserable. Even a pig being slaughtered for the New Year would have been more fortunate than they.
The executioners were all young; some were even mere youths. Their expressions were utterly focused, unswayed by the scene before them. No trace of sympathy or pity showed on their faces—only occasionally a hint of shyness.
These young people were all members of the Tang Clan’s Punishment Hall, sharing the same teacher: the withered old man seated in a chair at that moment.
The same withered old man who had appeared in the old manor not long ago.
The seven prisoners were lowered to the ground. Not a single patch of intact skin remained on their bodies, and who knew how much blood they had lost. Yet they still lived.
The problem was, at that moment, they wished they had never been born.
“Sign your confessions, and then we’ll send you on your way.”
The withered old man finally spoke. His voice was as calm as his expression, utterly ordinary and unremarkable.
But to the seven blood-soaked prisoners on the ground, the old man’s voice was like the howl of a demon from the abyss, or like celestial flowers blooming in the divine realm above the starry sea.
On the verge of death, they crawled desperately, scrambling forward, dragging trails of blood across the granary floor. Reaching the old man’s feet, they found the brush and paper with blurry, fading vision, signed their confessions as fast as they could, and then wept and screamed, begging Grandpa Wei to kill them now…
…
…
A plume of black smoke rose from the estate, followed by flickering flames, and then came the sound of cursing.
Tang Clan Second Master’s beloved Tonglu had been set ablaze by his portly son-in-law and his men, reduced to a patch of scorched earth.
The estate lay behind the willow trees along the Wenshui River, but Tonglu was situated relatively far back, so the fire would not affect the life in the river.
Snowflakes fell onto the water’s surface, vanishing instantly. Fish swam slowly among the waterweeds at the bottom.
This was the southern part of the city, where the Tang Clan’s main branch and second branch lived on opposite sides of the river—the most refined and noble area.
It was far from the Dao Hall and the main streets. There were no inns, no taverns.
Naturally, there were no pedestrians, no bustle.
Even the servants and maids from the main branch who had come to watch the commotion were dragged back inside by Madam Tang’s orders.
Then, in the next moment, the desolate banks of the Wenshui suddenly grew lively.
Seven peddlers, six yamen runners, three fortune-tellers, two old men selling malt candy, and a young girl buying rouge appeared out of nowhere.
Everyone knew these were no ordinary people.
Yamen runners could control peddlers; fortune-tellers could exchange a few words with the malt candy sellers. But none of the peddlers sold rouge, and who would the young girl buy from?
They were precisely five types of people.
The five types Tang Thirty-Six had requested from Old Master Tang.
No one knew that the Tang Clan’s most fearsome asset was not its private army, nor the half-step divine old guardian in the ancestral hall at that moment, nor even the Punishment Hall.
It was these unknown individuals.
When Old Master Tang heard Tang Thirty-Six’s request, he flew into a rage—a natural reaction upon discovering that the Tang Clan’s true secrets and killing moves had been uncovered by another. Even though that “other” was his own grandson, it was still hard for him to accept.
This alone showed how vital these people were to the Tang Clan.
From the moment Chen Changsheng entered the Wenshui City Dao Hall, these peddlers, yamen runners, and the other three types had been watching from the opposite bank.
Their task was to keep an eye on the experts from the National Church, ready to act at any moment, while also watching the clump of waterweeds deep in the river.
Just as the old Tang Clan guardian had told Tang Thirty-Six, the monster named Chu Su, though seemingly elusive and unpredictable, had actually always been under the Tang Clan’s surveillance.
Today, these peddlers, yamen runners, and fortune-tellers were to follow Tang Thirty-Six’s orders: force Chu Su out, then capture or kill him.
Though the Longevity Sect had withered, its ten-thousand-year foundation was like a towering mountain. If one looked beneath the surface, it was an abyss too deep to fathom.
Chu Su was the most terrifying product of that abyss. Could these ordinary-looking peddlers and yamen runners, with their unremarkable auras, defeat him?
The seven peddlers unloaded their carrying poles and took out small trinkets like rattles, spinning candy needles, and bamboo dragonflies, then began assembling them.
Their expressions were calm, even somewhat dull, but their movements were practiced, swift, and precise.
In a very short time, those spinning candy needles, rattles, and bamboo dragonflies were combined into one.
It was a sand table, shrunk hundreds of times, with buildings and corridors so lifelike they seemed carved onto a walnut by the most skilled artisan.
The peddlers placed their hands on the edges of the sand table, and seven streams of qi—different in nature yet naturally harmonious—poured into it.
Two fortune-tellers approached, staring at the miniature houses and corridors. The long banners in their hands fluttered slightly in the wind and snow.
No one knew how much time passed. The wind and snow continued, but the banners grew still—perhaps because their minds had calmed, or because they had already calculated the result.
A spot of blood slowly appeared in one of the miniature buildings on the sand table.
That was Chu Su’s current location.
…
…
Chu Su was in a secluded corner of the estate.
This was a garden, deep within a rockery. Even in winter, the cave remained somewhat damp.
That comforted him.
He knew Chen Changsheng had gone to the Tang Clan’s old manor today. He even knew that the disciple of the Mount Li Sword Sect had stayed behind in the Dao Hall. In the past, he would have sneaked into the Dao Hall and killed that Mount Li disciple, but he didn’t this time, because he felt it was a trap set by the National Church.
He crouched at the mouth of the cave deep in the rockery, surrounded by moss-covered stones, seeming to blend into them.
Watching the black smoke rising not far away and feeling the heat, his eyes revealed irritation and cold cruelty.
Chu Su didn’t know what had happened in the Tang Clan’s old manor, but he knew the Tang Clan’s second branch was in trouble. Still, he wasn’t worried. Even if Chen Changsheng had truly convinced Old Master Tang, he didn’t believe anyone could catch him. His speed and earth-diving techniques gave him immense confidence. If a strong opponent found him, he would simply leave.
At that moment, he suddenly sensed a change in the wind and snow above.
It wasn’t a change in the wind’s speed or the snowflakes’ shape, but a shift in the heaven-and-earth qi hidden within them—a faint, lurking killing intent.