Pei Buji exchanged a glance with Yang Qing, then quietly loosened his grip on the man's collar.
Then, while the man was off guard, he shoved him toward Yang Qing.
Yang Qing shook open the little packet of medicine clenched in his hand and scattered all the powder inside over the man's face.
Only when the man's face had turned the dark color of spilled bean paste did Yang Qing stop.
"What did you do to me?"
The man raised a hand to his face and came away with a handful of bloody lumps. Panic seized him.
He had gone to enormous trouble to fix this face. He could not let it be ruined like this.
"Since you are so noble and steadfast, refusing to let a single word slip, we have no choice but to oblige you."
Yang Qing narrowed his eyes slightly. "It just so happens that this hide of yours still has some use, so we intend to put it to work."
The man's expression changed at that. When his hand touched his face, he found that a patch of skin and flesh had fallen away.
Looking down at the blood and flesh in his hand, he nearly vomited.
"This powder is exceedingly rare. It can keep you in pain for forty-nine full days without letting you die."
Yang Qing's voice was soft, but it pierced the man's ears like needles. He hurried to speak.
"A man may be killed, but never humiliated. No matter how many tricks you bring out, they won't work."
"Of course they won't," Yang Qing said. "But dealing with you alone will be enough."
As he spoke, Yang Qing took two steps toward the tree. "Your death would only hand someone else the benefit."
"Do you really think that gritting your teeth