Prison Torture

"Master, Immortal Master Kong has fallen!"

King Snake's knees went soft, and he dropped to the ground with a thud. His forehead pressed against the cold brick floor, his voice trembling with fear.

Zhao Qingxu slowly turned sideways. That ghastly, featureless, pallid mask faced him, its voice impossible to read:

"Are you afraid?"

Even in this secluded courtyard, facing his only trusted subordinate, that eerie mask remained firmly fixed over his face.

His voice, too, seemed separated by an invisible barrier—blurred and impossible to distinguish as male or female.

"Your servant... your servant..."

King Snake trembled all over. He wished he could bury his head in the ground and never see that mask again.

In outsiders' eyes, he was the mighty, ruthless Branch Master of the Iron Anchor Society. Yet before this baleful fiend, he could barely string a sentence together.

A faint sneer seemed to come from behind the mask.

Zhao Qingxu stopped looking at him. Instead, he leisurely turned around, picked up the celadon kettle on the table, and unhurriedly watered the potted Flat Peach tree.

The water pattered among the strange rocks.

"Back then, you weren't this useless."

"With a chipped knife in hand, you dared barge into the Ministry of Justice prison. Even knowing you were outmatched, you still had to leave a few cuts on me..."

"Where did that reckless, murderous nerve go?"

The sky was already falling, and he was still bringing up these ancient matters!

King Snake cursed anxiously inwardly, but he dared not show the slightest trace of it. He could only answer submissively, "Your servant... doesn't know."

Zhao Qingxu sighed and set down the kettle. "Once people gain something, they become afraid of losing it. Even their bones turn soft."

King Snake's mind grew even more muddled. He could not fathom