Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter Thirteen: Prisoner

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The cave, or rather, the dungeon, remained unchanged.

A single oil lamp flickered weakly, casting its dim light over five prisoners sprawled in disarray.

Yu Ye lay on his side in a corner, eyes closed as if in sleep, though his furrowed brow betrayed his wakefulness. It was not the snoring of Old Seventh Feng, nor hunger, that kept him awake, but a lingering vexation—a persistent knot of doubt in his heart.

Lu Kai had stolen his bread, Old Seventh Feng ignored the matter, Second Feng gloated, and Jiang Xiong felt it only right. The four of them had joined forces to bully him alone.

Though there was nothing to fill their stomachs, the hunger was not yet unbearable. Perhaps due to the effect of the Violet Ginseng Fruit, even now, as he breathed, a faintly sweet fragrance lingered in his mouth.

A celestial fruit?

If it truly was a spiritual fruit, then mortals should never taste it—for if one did, it could well be fatal.

A mortal—someone like Yu Ye himself, an ordinary man. Yet he had swallowed more than ten Violet Ginseng Fruits, not only surviving but feeling a pleasant ease in both body and mind, savoring the lingering taste.

Did the Yan family patriarch lie? Or was the poison of the flood dragon within him so potent as to neutralize the fruit’s effects?

Regardless of whether the reason behind the tomb’s destruction and the missing fruit could be uncovered, the hot-tempered Yan patriarch would never easily spare the grave robbers. Was he to be locked away in this dungeon and die an obscure, meaningless death?

This prison must lie underground. No rooster’s crow could be heard, no drumbeat to mark the hours, no sunlight crept in from outside—there was no way to tell day from night.

After several hours had passed, the wooden door banged open once more.

The two burly men from before charged in, seized Lu Kai without a word, and dragged him away. Soon, his shrill screams echoed back. Jiang Xiong shuddered, clutching his head, trembling all over. Second Feng’s eyes bulged, his face pale. Only Old Seventh Feng remained as relaxed as ever, lying leisurely atop the straw.

Yu Ye too was calm, sitting cross-legged, gazing up at the oil lamp on the stone wall, his eyes blinking in time with the dancing flame.

Half an hour later, Lu Kai was flung to the floor, battered and bruised. Then Second Feng was dragged off, his own cries following. Another half hour passed before Second Feng, covered in blood, returned. Before the Yan family men could move, Old Seventh Feng walked out of the dungeon on his own, and not a sound of his suffering was heard. When he returned, a twisted smile still clung to his face, though blood dripped from his nose and mouth, his cheeks were torn, and he limped badly—clearly, his injuries were grave.

“Thief, your turn.”

Yu Ye did not resist as the two men seized him and hauled him away.

Seeing the wretched state of Jiang Xiong and the others filled him with dread. But as he was now one of the accused, he knew he must share their fate. Thinking of the flood dragon’s poison within him, however, he gradually regained his composure.

A man on the brink of death—what has he to fear?

At the door, they turned right into a narrow cave, a dozen yards long, at the end of which hung another oil lamp. Here the passage split in two: stone steps to the right, another cave to the left.

In a space a few yards across stood an oil lamp, wooden stools, posts, clubs, whips, ropes, and a brazier burning fiercely.

Yu Ye was tied to a post, and a flurry of blows rained down on him. Agony convulsed his limbs, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Slap! Slap!

After the beating, one man delivered two vicious slaps, then stepped back, snarling, “Who ordered the grave robbing? What grudge have you against the Yan family?”

Yu Ye’s eyes flashed with stars as he shook his head vigorously.

The man pressed on, “Do you know where the Violet Ginseng Fruit is?”

“Oh?” Yu Ye seemed to come back to himself. “I ate the fruit...”

Before he could finish, a whip lashed across his face. The searing pain contorted his features and tore a scream from his lips.

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The two men, seething with rage, raised their fists and the whip—

“Hmph, if you’d eaten the Violet Ginseng Fruit, you’d not be alive now!”

“This little thief is full of lies—beat him!”

Yu Ye could only groan inwardly, unable to argue.

A man should bear the consequences of his own actions—he might as well tell the truth, to spare the innocent and escape further beating. But as he’d feared, no one believed a word he said.

Whip after whip lashed his face and body, each a blaze of agony. He gritted his teeth and endured. In no time, his sheepskin robe was torn to shreds, flesh split open, blood blurring his eyes and soaking his chest, yet the merciless whipping continued. He trembled and writhed, his twisted expression filled with unspeakable pain. Slowly, his struggles ceased, and even his wide-open eyes grew dull and lifeless.

Only after half a stick of incense had burned did the two men finally stop.

“He’s just a boy—he can’t take much more.”

“If the master hadn’t forbidden it, I’d have beaten these thieves to death. Forget it, let him live a few more days.”

Perhaps they were exhausted. The men tossed aside the whip, untied Yu Ye, dragged him back to the dungeon, and threw him in.

Bang!

Yu Ye landed on his back, hair disheveled, his tattered robe drenched in blood. His face and chest were a mass of torn flesh—ghastly to behold.

Not far away, his companions watched in silence.

Jiang Xiong remarked in surprise, “Well now, he’s alive and breathing? The boy’s not dead?”

Lu Kai shook his head, “That was a savage beating—if he’s not dead, he’s lost half his life.”

Second Feng sneered, “Serves him right for not begging for mercy...”

Old Seventh Feng, after a pause, said, “Lu Kai, Second Feng, keep an eye on him—don’t let him die and bring us bad luck!”

Lu Kai and Second Feng were reluctant, but fearing ill fortune, they dragged Yu Ye aside and kept their distance.

Yu Ye’s eyes were half open, half closed, as if unconscious, yet he could hear the voices of Jiang Xiong and the others, and the footsteps of the Yan family men as they left. He only wanted to lie there, away from those vicious faces, letting the darkness close in, savoring a brief moment of comfort and peace.

The so-called darkness was tinged with red—blood from his face had blinded him.

The beating had been brutal; each whip seared with pain and tore his skin, making him want to cry out for mercy. As he gritted his teeth and endured, a sharp pain twisted in his belly—a sign, perhaps, of the flood dragon’s poison flaring up. If it struck now, he was doomed. But as despair threatened to overwhelm him, the pain gradually faded, replaced by a warm current that flowed through his body, easing even the pain of the whipping.

Indeed, though he lay on the ground, covered in blood, half dead, the pain in his flesh was already giving way to a peculiar, tingling itch. This strange comfort amazed him. In the past, he might have dismissed it as a hallucination before unconsciousness. But now, his mind was clear—there could be no mistake. Perhaps something unprecedented was happening within him.

Was it the flood dragon’s poison?

Yet the agony it brought far surpassed the pain of the whip.

Could it be the Violet Ginseng Fruit?

But a mortal who ate a spiritual fruit should die.

The more he wondered, the more confused he became...

Yu Ye tried to understand the changes in his body, but for a poor mountain boy like him, the vastness of this new world was overwhelming. Even if he exhausted all his curiosity, he could barely comprehend a fraction of it.

Clang—

The wooden door opened, and a jug of water and a few pieces of bread were thrown in.

In this dungeon, food was delivered once a day—enough to keep them alive, but never enough to fill their bellies.

Yu Ye still lay there, the blood on his face and body now crusted and hard. The black-red scabs made his injuries look even worse.

“Boy?”

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Someone approached and gave him a gentle kick.

Yu Ye’s chest heaved as he drew a long breath. Slowly, he raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. With the blood wiped away, the dim dungeon came back into view. Someone stood over him, studying him closely.

Old Seventh Feng?

Old Seventh Feng sized him up for a moment, then, seeing something he couldn’t fathom, cast him a strange look, dragged his chains, and limped away.

Yu Ye struggled to sit up.

On the ground before him lay an extra piece of bread.

“Eat.”

Old Seventh Feng had returned to his straw pile, muttering in a low voice, “Damn it, can’t be beaten on an empty stomach.”

Jiang Xiong, Lu Kai, and Second Feng, whether lying or sitting, all wore looks of deep misery.

Yu Ye picked up the bread and took a bite.

Hard and coarse, it was almost impossible to swallow.

Would he face torture again today?

He chewed the unpalatable bread, pondering Old Seventh Feng’s words.

His sheepskin robe was already torn to shreds by the whips—if he was beaten again, he’d have nothing left to cover himself. His exposed arms and chest were covered in wounds, yet beneath the thick scabs, the torn flesh seemed to be healing. That strange, tingling itch persisted without end.

Sure enough, when the wooden door opened, Jiang Xiong was taken away, and once more the cave echoed with his pitiful screams.

But when Lu Kai and Second Feng were taken out in turn, neither returned. Only after Old Seventh Feng, covered in blood, was tossed back into the dungeon did they see no sign of the others. Stranger still, by yesterday’s order, Yu Ye should have been next, but instead, Jiang Xiong was taken away again.

“Aaah—”

Jiang Xiong’s screams came from afar—sometimes sharp, sometimes faint, sometimes barely audible. Perhaps the torment had finally robbed him of the strength to cry out.

Now, only two remained in the dungeon.

Yu Ye slowly stood up and tried to stretch his limbs. He felt no serious harm, but the crawling itch beneath his skin grew stronger, making him want to scratch despite the risk of reopening his wounds.

Old Seventh Feng lay face down on the ground.

Today, all his former ease had vanished. Since being thrown into the dungeon, he had lain there in utter silence.

Yu Ye moved quietly.

The bars and door were made of thick wooden posts, reinforced with heavy chains—formidable enough to withstand any attempt to break free.

Through the gaps between the posts, he could just make out a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Jiang Xiong’s cries still echoed, on and off.

Yu Ye circled the cell and looked down at Old Seventh Feng.

Chains bound the man’s hands and feet, and he lay in a pool of blood. Beneath the tattered robe, wounds gaped raw and deep.

After a moment’s hesitation, Yu Ye reached out and turned him over.

He was still breathing—alive.

Yu Ye placed a bundle of straw under his head, then picked up the water jug to feed him. Yet as he brought it close, the still-unconscious Old Seventh Feng suddenly seized his wrist, and, a hideous smile twisting his face, slowly opened his eyes...