"How disgraceful!"
Hong Yuan stood with his hands behind his back, calmly watching Lei Meng's impotent rage. Only after the man had ranted for a while did he speak indifferently:
"That's enough. You're a grandmaster of martial arts, after all. When you lose, you must accept it. Don't you understand even that simple principle?"
"Stop barking like a dog. You're not some lovely young girl of eighteen or nineteen. Do you think I'd pity you at the sight? I only find it laughable!"
Lei Meng's howling faltered, and his voice turned hoarse:
"Fine, fine! I, Lei Meng, ended up like this because my skills were inferior. You win. Go ahead and kill me."
Hong Yuan shook his head:
"Killing you would be a waste. I don't want to torture you, so will you cooperate and tell me everything you know about true arts?"
Lei Meng struggled to sit up again. Astonishment appeared on his deathly pale face as he stared with his two bloody eye sockets. "You really don't know about true arts?"
"That is none of your concern!"
Hong Yuan's tone was level. "Tell me, and I'll spare your life."
A rasping sound came from Lei Meng's throat, almost like a grotesque laugh. "I'm already reduced to this. My hands and feet are broken, and I can no longer use any of my force. Living would be worse than death. Do you think I'm afraid to die?"
"Better a wretched life than a good death. Besides, with secret medicines and special kinds of force, it might be possible to restore most of the function in your hands and feet."
Hong Yuan said, "You're old, but with a Subtlety master's physique and control over blood and qi, you might still live another twenty or thirty years. Death leaves everything empty.