Chapter Seventy-Three: Liberation

“Since he refuses to confess, beat him until he does!” Miao Shilin gave the order, his tone tinged with bleakness. After uttering these words, he seemed weary, or perhaps motivated by something else, and briskly turned to leave.

“Sixth Senior Brother, are we really supposed to beat him?” one of the disciples from the Hall of Punishment asked Yang Jian uncertainly. Che Wuyou was no longer the man he once was; his mastery of alchemy was unfathomable, and he counted real masters in the Core Formation stage among his friends. Even the venerable Xuanyan Sect treated him with respect.

Moreover, in Miao Family Manor, Liu Lanzhi’s influence had grown unrivaled, and her relationship with Che Wuyou was always intimate. If they dared to beat Che Wuyou before Liu Lanzhi arrived, who knew how she would react? Even if she said nothing now, once the manor inevitably fell into her hands, would she not seek revenge?

“Beat him! Beat him hard! Did you not hear the master’s orders?” Yang Jian glared fiercely at the disciple. “Unless he confesses everything, do not stop.”

“Oh.” Seeing even Yang Jian insist, the disciple could only fetch the whip from the rack prepared earlier and lash it with force at Che Wuyou.

“Out of the way—let me do it!” Suddenly, a dozen men stormed forward, their leader’s eyes bloodshot as he roared, “Such a wretch! How dare you commit such unforgivable crimes? A hundred deaths would not atone for your sins!”

He strode over and kicked the disciple who was whipping Che Wuyou, shouting, “You fool! Did you not hear me tell you to get lost? Useless, weak, not an ounce of strength! With your feeble blows, he’d never confess, not even by next year. Get out—get out, you’re a disgrace!” He spat angrily.

“Cai Hu, you—” The disciple lay on the ground, glaring at Cai Hu. He had done nothing to deserve this; Liu Lanzhi had yet to appear, and already he’d been kicked for no reason. He looked desperately at Yang Jian—he was Yang Jian’s man, surely Yang Jian would stand up for him. But Yang Jian’s expression said otherwise; resignation was written all over his face. The disciple felt bitterly aggrieved—he’d suffered for nothing.

“Go!” Cai Hu’s eyes flashed with menace, and the disciple scrambled away. Cai Hu, his face full of ferocity, seized the whip and lashed it at Che Wuyou. “Boy, will you confess or not? How did you kill Senior Brother Han and Senior Sister Lu? What did you steal from Senior Brother Han’s hands?”

As he spoke, Cai Hu whipped Che Wuyou with all his might, each strike raising a spray of blood, each blow tearing Che Wuyou’s flesh. “Will you talk? If not, I’ll whip you to death right here, you beast!”

Che Wuyou slipped in and out of consciousness, his entire body wracked with pain. He felt as if some of his bones had been broken by Cai Hu’s blows. The cold wind howled around him, chilling him to the bone. The blood flowing from his wounds quickly formed scabs in the icy air, only to crack again beneath the relentless lashes. The pain was excruciating, deep to his marrow.

“Stop!” The sudden appearance of a figure in lake-green robes drew every eye. Even Cai Hu, hard-edged as he was, paused under the force of her command.

“Little Sister, he—” Cai Hu tried to explain himself, but under Liu Lanzhi’s stern gaze, he lost all confidence.

“Get out of my way!” Liu Lanzhi moved so swiftly that Cai Hu never saw her act; the whip was already in her hand.

Everyone instinctively stepped back, giving her space. With a low-grade treasure weapon slung across her back, Liu Lanzhi seemed like a sword drawn from its sheath, her suppressed aura radiating a sharpness that startled them all. Such overwhelming presence—they had never seen her so domineering before. Though they knew she would not kill them, the keen edge of her temperament made their hearts tremble.

Cai Hu, overwhelmed by Liu Lanzhi’s aura, wanted to say something to salvage his dignity, but in the end, he slunk away. The pressure she exerted was too much, leaving him unsettled and anxious.

“Wuyou, why did you do this? What did you find on Han Feng and Senior Sister Lu? What are you trying to hide? Now that I am here, tell everyone what you saw and what you did. If it was not you, with me, Liu Lanzhi, here, no one can wrong you—not even Master Miao Shilin.”

Her words, calm but resolute, cut like steel. Though some might say she was defiant, no one doubted her sincerity. If Liu Lanzhi chose to protect Che Wuyou, not even Miao Shilin could falsely accuse him. She had both the standing and the power to do so.

Che Wuyou opened his eyes hazily, gazing at the lake-green figure before him. He found himself recalling the moment from that morning—the fleeting silhouette he had glimpsed. No matter how many years passed, even if only for a moment, he would never forget that familiar back.

“Lanzhi, I…” The sight of the identity token in Han Feng’s hand, Liu Lanzhi’s icy, unfamiliar face, and the strange look she gave him filled Che Wuyou with despair. “You ask me to confess? I have nothing to confess.”

His heart had always held fast. He believed that no matter what happened, Liu Lanzhi would stand by him. But facing her cold, unfamiliar expression, his spirit sank. He had wanted to ask her many questions in private, but unexpectedly, her first words to him were demands for a confession. What was there to confess? He would rather die than utter a single word.

“Very well. Since you refuse to speak, I will beat you until you do.” Liu Lanzhi raised the whip, and everyone saw a blur as its shadow fell heavily across Che Wuyou’s body.

Yang Jian’s eyes narrowed. He himself was at the peak of the Purple Mansion stage, equal to Liu Lanzhi, yet his eyes could not follow her speed. Had she broken through to the Return Origin stage? Yang Jian’s heart trembled—such talent! Guhe City had produced Che Yeming, and Miao Family Manor now had Liu Lanzhi. Perhaps the times had changed, or he himself had grown old, but the Return Origin stage no longer seemed so rare.

Cai Hu shrank back, watching the whip in Liu Lanzhi’s hands dart like a venomous serpent, its blows ruthless and sharp. No wonder Little Sister’s reputation was so formidable; in a few short years, most of the senior brothers had rallied around her. Clearly, there were reasons for this.

Under Liu Lanzhi’s lash, Che Wuyou’s body convulsed violently; he felt as if his bones were being shattered. A faint veil of blood clouded his vision, giving him a savage appearance. Yet he merely grunted softly, refusing to confess or beg for mercy.

“Will you speak? Will you speak or not?” Liu Lanzhi’s expression was cold as she bit her lip, mercilessly striking again and again.

“I—I—I will not speak. You—you can kill me.” Che Wuyou’s voice was hoarse, like the growl of a beast. He stared weakly at Liu Lanzhi, as if his soul had left him, his gaze lost and vacant.

“Good, you truly are strong-willed, just as I believed. Keep beating him, do not stop until he speaks.” A look of finality flashed in Liu Lanzhi’s eyes. She tossed the whip to Cai Hu and ordered him sharply.

Cai Hu took the whip, glanced at Liu Lanzhi’s receding figure, then at the blood-soaked Che Wuyou, and stood frozen. Should he continue? If he did, Che Wuyou might die here. But since Che Wuyou was doomed anyway, there was no need for him to play the villain. Watching Liu Lanzhi disappear, Cai Hu found a convenient excuse for himself.

Time passed slowly. Che Wuyou felt as if he were drunk, his mind clouded. His body had long since gone numb, his thoughts dulled. How would Miao Family Manor dispose of him? What did Liu Lanzhi plan? His mind was a haze—he could neither guess nor grasp the outcome. Everything that had happened today was so strange, like a dream. He wished none of it had happened, wished desperately that it was not real.

He did not know how much time had passed, but the sky gradually darkened, as though dawn was about to break but had not yet arrived—a disorienting sensation. Che Wuyou raised his head and looked around at the dim scenery. Was it morning again? Why had no one come to dispose of him? Had they not yet decided his fate? He thought numbly.

After a while, still dazed, Che Wuyou felt himself lifted up by two figures clad in black nightwear. He looked at them blankly. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

“To send you on your way. You’ve lived these extra years—consider it luck. I hope you can be a good person in your next life.” One of them answered coldly.

“Oh, on my way. That’s good.” Che Wuyou did not realize what “sending him on his way” meant. Even if he had, he would not have been surprised. Perhaps he had been longing for this moment—at last, release. Release was far better than endless torment.