Bang!
A piercing screech of brakes shattered the long night.
Qin Sang hesitated. It wasn't that he lacked the courage to risk it all, but he had family—parents, brothers...
The intense pain coursing through his body yanked him back to reality. The only sensation he could feel was pain; his limbs were unresponsive. His body seemed deformed, crushed into a narrow corner. The iron frame around him, jagged like teeth, looked menacing.
The car spun violently, and the lights blurred into the roadside neon. It was as if he was looking through a kaleidoscope. A red string came into view, at the end of which hung a dull yellow Jade Buddha, tracing a short arc before smashing into his nose.
Amid the interplay of light and shadow, a fountain of blood erupted, drowning the Jade Buddha. It must have been from a ruptured artery in his neck.
"A car accident!"
Regret consumed Qin Sang. They struck first; he shouldn't have hesitated!
Death rendered everything meaningless—the things he had fought for, cared about—all shattered like an illusion.
The only thought that remained was a question of where he would go...
It must be hell.
"I want to live."
Qin Sang's eyes widened.
The inertia from the impact wasn't finished yet; the car continued to spin. The Jade Buddha before him swayed back and forth, as if it was swinging right into his soul.
A dark vortex swallowed him.
Boom!
...
The sun was shining bright and hot.
The stone mountains were steep, with jagged rocks and scarce greenery. Distant, sporadic bird chirps added to the oppressive heat.
On a rugged mountain road, a convoy of prison carts moved slowly. On either side of the convoy, a few fierce-looking men on horseback whipped their horses and cursed loudly.
These burly horsemen didn't dress like officials; their behavior was more akin to bandits.
The prison cages on the carts were crude, clearly newly made, with fresh wood showing.
Every cage was packed with prisoners.
Qin Sang, his hands and feet bound, was curled up in a corner of one of the cages, his gaze regaining a trace of clarity.
Ever since he regained consciousness, he had been in a daze, with occasional moments of lucidity. Only today did he fully digest the memories of this body. Ꞧ
The leader of the mountain bandits, a burly man with a bristling beard, led the group to the riverbank. He then turned his horse around and headed for the last cart.
Unlike the other prison carts, this one was covered with a black cloth, concealing whoever was inside. The person had never emerged.
As he approached the cart, the leader dismounted, his ferocious expression softening. He walked lightly to the side of the cart, knelt on both knees, and respectfully reported, "Reporting to Immortal Master, this is the Chenshui River, which connects to the Wuling River. We are now within the borders of the Great Sui Kingdom."
The cart remained silent, with no response. The leader lay prostrate on the ground, not daring to rise.
After a while, a hoarse and grating voice came from within the cart, "Build a raft and cross the river. Continue northward."
The bearded leader hurriedly acknowledged the order and was about to rise when a violent coughing fit suddenly erupted from the cart. "Q-Quickly send two sacrifices—cough, cough..."
Qin Sang was struck with horror, and the other prisoners began to stir.
Whenever the immortal master requested sacrifices, two prisoners would be sent into the black-cloth cart. An hour later, their corpses would be brought out.
Three days ago, Qin Sang had inadvertently seen one of the corpses. A living person had gone in, but what came out was a desiccated husk, completely drained of blood and flesh, with only skin stretched over the bones.
Those sunken eye sockets were still vividly imprinted in his mind, as if they were silently conveying an endless terror, shattering his understanding of the world.
If not for the sharpness of his senses, Qin Sang might have thought he was in the eighteenth level of hell[2], though he couldn’t recall any specific torture that involved draining the flesh dry.
"Bring them out!"
The leader ordered his men to cut down trees and build a raft, while he personally dragged two people from the nearby cart.
Qin Sang secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but his despair didn't lessen in the slightest. If he couldn’t escape, he would only live a few days longer than those two—what was there to celebrate?
Qin Sang's eyes were locked on the bandits constructing the raft. Their efficiency was terrifying, and the raft was nearly finished in no time. Qin Sang could only pray that they had skimped on the work, causing the raft to capsize in the river.
Compared to being drained dry, he would rather drown in the river, as if this life had been nothing more than a final dream before death.
The leader strode quickly toward the cart, dragging the two unfortunate souls, who used their last bit of strength to cry out, while the bandits along the riverbank laughed heartily.
The sound of water, the wind, the clashing of weapons, footsteps, screams, groans, and sinister laughter...
All these noises assaulted Qin Sang's ears, and the world suddenly became unbearably loud. His mind was in turmoil, and he felt as if he were about to faint. Suddenly, a thunderous shout rang out.
"Demon! Let’s see where you run this time!"
Qin Sang jerked his head up, just in time to see a dazzling white light flash at the mountaintop, cutting through the air, brighter than the sun.
The white light flickered. It looks like a sword!
1. Sanwa translates to "the third child" in Chinese ☜
2. In Chinese culture, there are 18 levels of hell, with each level being worse than the previous. ☜