Remaining Dregs (3)

The Black Prison was hidden in the folds of the valley where Spirit Sword Peak and Spirit Martial Peak joined, like a fissure deliberately forgotten by two towering mountains. The surrounding mountains were basalt, their dark stone threaded with gleaming silver ore, yet not the slightest ray of light could penetrate them--

By day, Spirit Sword Peak's shadow covered the valley entrance first; by dusk, Spirit Martial Peak would block the last sliver of afterglow outside. Only the year-round chill remained, winding through every inch of space like vines.

Yulan was currently imprisoned in the deepest part of the Black Prison.

Cold, damp droplets had condensed on the thick basalt walls. The air was thick with a complex stench: the earthy odor of basalt, the mold of years without sunlight, and the rusty tang of Black Iron chains in the corners. All of it pressed down heavily, and even breathing it into one's lungs brought a bone-piercing chill.

Though the Profound Heaven Sect had strict rules, it was not devoid of human feeling. Even when sect disciples occasionally made mistakes, most were merely sent to Reflection Cliff to face the wall, or to the Scripture Repository to copy scriptures. More serious offenses were handled by the Discipline Hall.

Only those who committed unforgivable crimes--such as wantonly killing mortals for their own selfish desires, or secretly practicing forbidden arts and falling into the evil path--would be thrown into this Black Prison. Thus, the place was always empty. There was almost never any such thing as a "cellmate." Only chamber after chamber silently faced one another, like lonely gravestones.

Even the disciples assigned to guard the prison only took shifts at the entrance. After all, anyone imprisoned here would have their cultivation restrained by the Black Iron chains, leaving them no different