Chu Yilan pulled a stool from the corner and sat in the center of the room. Light and shadow left his face half-lit, but from every angle, his expression remained calm.
When he was little, he had been terrified.
But the more he cried and begged, the harsher the punishment became. Years ago, when he had hunted Chu Changqi down and cornered him with intent to kill, he had only succeeded because his hatred outweighed his fear. Even a year before he met Shen Lian, the darkness buried deep in his heart still jolted him awake at night.
Dim surroundings, a pale ceiling, all manner of "instruments of torture" that chilled him at a glance, and Chu Changqi's face, with its gentle appearance and demonic eyes, had formed much of the backdrop of Chu Yilan's childhood.
His soul had been submerged in cold, filthy water, seemingly unable to find a way out.
But now, he was free.
Half an hour later, Nie Sheng threw Chu Changqi into the room.
Chu Changqi's injuries had gone untreated, and his high fever persisted. Only when Nie Sheng found him too much trouble to look after did he let a doctor come in and jab him with an injection. All that mattered was keeping him alive.
Chu Changqi felt so awful he could have died. Once, he had wielded immense power; now, even a sip of water was a luxury beyond his reach.
He was dazed and could barely see. When Nie Sheng splashed a basin of cold water over him, Chu Changqi first curled up, then immediately stuck out his tongue and licked desperately, crying, "Water, water."
"Awake?" A low male voice sounded above him.
Chu Changqi froze, then looked toward the voice.
There was something uncanny about this scene, like fate coming