Divine Son

Zhou Leng found himself bound inside a massive cauldron, unable to move as firewood burned beneath him.

He struggled desperately, but his hands had already been cinched bloody, and it was all in vain.

As the water temperature rose, his body finally could not endure it.

Aah—

His body screamed instinctively.

Zhou Leng could endure this kind of pain, but his body could not.

Until the water boiled.

His vision went black, then bright.

Ahead, dancers swayed gracefully, singers chanted softly, and musicians played their instruments.

He seemed to be seated high above, as though his treatment had improved somewhat.

When he turned his head, he saw that he had been fastened to a huge bronze pillar.

Then, from even higher up, a woman said softly, "Your Majesty, next comes the Bronze Pillar Torture—"

Zhou Leng remained expressionless, inwardly cursing the Purgatory Gate for being utterly vile.

Flames rose, and the bronze pillar heated up rapidly.

Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—

The charred scent of roasted flesh slowly spread.

Unimaginable agony flooded through his entire body, making it tremble uncontrollably—

His vision went black and bright once more.

"Matron, stab this little bitch to death today. Keep stabbing until she dies."

"Bastard!"

Zhou Leng: ???

Then, vicious palace maids wielding iron needles stabbed them into his body one after another—

Zhou Leng finally understood. What Death-Defying Gate was this? It was clearly the Torture Gate.

After that, Zhou Leng experienced every method of death known to mankind.

At first, he could still endure it, but the pain and exhaustion accumulated without end.

A hundred deaths were easy enough.

A thousand deaths were somewhat unpleasant.

Three thousand deaths were still bearable.

But starting from the three-thousandth death, what he felt was no longer merely physical pain, but every pain connected to himself.

When