Brotherly Bloom

"What are those two brothers muttering about?"

Heir of Prince Jing, Xiao Sheng, strained his ears, but Zhang Yu and the other had lowered their voices, leaving him unable to make out a word.

The prisoners watching on the sidelines were also scratching their heads in frustration—the drama had hit a cliffhanger, and it was maddening.

Suddenly, a change erupted!

The burly man known as "Brute Bull," whether bewitched by lust or thoroughly provoked by Zhang Yu's words, abruptly grabbed Zhang Heng, who stood at the cell door.

"You bastard, you've got the wrong person."

Zhang Heng, both startled and enraged, barked out a stern rebuke.

As the most favored Fifth Young Master of the Marquis Estate, when had he ever suffered such an affront?

Burning with shame and fury, he didn't hesitate. Channeling the internal energy of a Fifth-rank martial artist, he swung a sharp slap backhanded, aiming viciously at Brute Bull's ugly face!

He would teach this reckless commoner a lesson he'd never forget.

The palm wind howled, showing that Zhang Heng, in his rage, held nothing back.

Yet the crisp slap he expected never came.

Brute Bull's massive hand, like an iron clamp, moved faster and caught Zhang Heng's swinging wrist midair with ease.

Zhang Heng's palm, laden with internal energy, stopped a mere three inches from Brute Bull's cheek, unable to advance a single inch further.

The immense force gripping his wrist made him feel as if his bones were about to be crushed.

"H-How is this possible?"

Zhang Heng's pupils contracted, disbelief plastered across his face.

He was a Fifth-rank martial artist! Though this strike wasn't his full power, no ordinary prisoner should have been able to catch it so effortlessly.

Instinctively, he channeled his internal energy throughout his body, trying to shake off Brute Bull's grip, while his other hand turned from a palm into a fist, aiming a blow at Brute Bull's ribs.

Brute Bull grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, his eyes a mix of lechery and savage cruelty.

He didn't dodge or evade. Instead, he twisted the hand holding Zhang Heng's wrist sharply.

Crack!

A faint sound of bones popping rang out.

"Ahhh—!"

Zhang Heng screamed in agony. The searing pain caused his other fist to go limp instantly, and all his internal energy scattered from the twist.

He realized with horror that his hard-earned Fifth-rank internal energy, against the other man's pure, terrifying brute strength, was as fragile as paper, crumbling at the first touch.

No matter how he struggled, his captured wrist felt welded into the iron clamp, utterly immobile.

"What... what's going on?"

Zhang Heng was completely panicked, a foreboding dread washing over him.

This Brute Bull's strength far exceeded his expectations.

From inside the cell came Zhang Yu's leisurely voice, laced with mockery:

"I forgot to tell you, my dear fifth brother. This Brother Brute Bull's external martial arts are the real deal... Sixth-rank martial cultivation.

And he specializes in external techniques, the kind with monstrous strength.

You, a freshly minted Fifth-rank who got there by stacking pills—a mere showpiece—how could you possibly be his match?

I suggest you save your strength.

The more you struggle, the more excited he might get.

Instead... why not properly 'enjoy' the 'great gift' I've carefully prepared for you?"

Zhang Yu's tone was calm, but every word struck Zhang Heng's heart like shards of ice.

"You?"

Zhang Heng whipped his head around, glaring at the indifferent Zhang Yu inside the cell.

He finally understood.

Why Zhang Yu had been so unbothered by his threats—he had seen through everything all along and turned the tables.

But he realized it far too late.

"Only now catching on?"

Zhang Yu said flatly, no longer looking at him, as if bored with the farce.

Brute Bull, already riled by Zhang Heng's struggles and screams, and spurred on by Zhang Yu's "properly enjoy" remark, cast aside all restraint.

With a low growl, like a beast pouncing on prey, his other massive hand grabbed the fine brocade on Zhang Heng's chest.

Rip—!

The splendid silk tore like rags, revealing pale skin taut with fear beneath.

"No, don't—!"

Let me go! Help!

Mother, sister, save me!!"

Zhang Heng let out a wail so miserable it barely sounded human, tears and snot streaming down his face as he twisted and thrashed wildly. But like a fly caught in a spider's web, all his struggles were futile and laughable under Brute Bull's absolute strength.

Then came more sounds of clothing being violently torn apart, mixed with Zhang Heng's increasingly desperate, anguished howls and Brute Bull's excited, heavy panting.

Inside and outside the cell, there was dead silence.

Those prisoners who had been eager to watch the spectacle now mostly fell quiet; some even turned their faces away, unable to bear looking any longer.

This scene had already gone beyond the scope of a "spectacle"—it had become cruel and deeply unsettling.

Only Xiao Sheng, the Heir of Prince Jing in the neighboring cell, was stunned at first, but then a look of even greater excitement, even morbid curiosity, spread across his face.

Not only did he not look away, but he watched with even more "keen interest."

At the other end of the corridor, the few duty guards whom Zhang Heng had tipped off—telling them to stay calm no matter what sounds they heard and to stall for a while—now exchanged knowing smiles and nodded in silent understanding.

They had taken Zhang Heng's bribe and agreed to delay bringing the ladies of the Marquis Estate over, no matter what happened inside.

In the side chamber, Qin Xuehua and the others were growing increasingly anxious from the wait.