The supple whip of tanned ox sinew lashed his back again and again, each crack setting teeth on edge. The man wielding it might have been trained, and the whip itself was specially made: it did not break the skin, but left livid purple-red welts in its wake.
Baozhu knelt beside the pool, secured to a ground anchor by shackles around her neck and ankles, unable to move away. Every crack of the whip made her squeeze her eyes shut and shudder.
After twenty lashes, two guards took the hunched Mi Moyan between them and set him beside Baozhu, fastening his neck shackle to a ground anchor as well. The two knelt side by side. Then everyone left. The dancing girls hid behind their doors, peering pityingly through gaps in the window lattices and whispering among themselves.
Baozhu stared in horror at the shocking welts across Mi Moyan's back and asked in bewilderment, "I was the one who attacked someone and tried to escape. Why were you the one beaten?"
Mi Moyan had not dared move a muscle during his punishment. He lay on the ground, gasping. Only after the worst had passed, when the searing pain had dulled a little and his body had begun to adjust, did he straighten up and say weakly, "Because I'm your roommate. It's called 'collective punishment.' If you'd made it any farther, the people in the next room would have been beaten too. They won't harm a hair on your head before the Golden Osmanthus Banquet."
Baozhu stared blankly for a while, then murmured, "No wonder you wouldn't leave with me. You knew that door didn't lead outside."
Mi Moyan's expression held neither sorrow nor joy, only indifference tinged with despair. "Do you think I haven't tried? I've tried every method you could